RETRIBUTION 


A  Tale  of  the 
CANADIAN 
B  O  R  D  E,  R 


JAMES  B.KENYON 


RETRIBUTION 

A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 
JAMES  B.  KENYON 


:  The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them ' ' 


CINCINNATI:    JENNINGS  AND    PYE 
NEW    YORK:    EATON    AND   MAINS 


COPYRIGHT,   1903,  BY 
JENNINGS     AND     FYK 


So  deeply  inherent  is  it  in  this  life  of  ours  that 
men  have  to  suffer  for  each  other's  sins,  so  inevitably 
diffusive  is  human  suffering,  that  even  justice  makes 
its  victims,  and  we  can  conceive  no  retribution  that 
does  not  spread  beyond  its  mark  in  pulsations  of 
unmerited  pain.— GEORGE  ELIOT. 


BOOKS  BY  MR.  KENYON 

In  Terse 

THE  FALLEN,  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Our  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

SONGS  IN  ALL  SEASONS 

IN  REALMS  OF  GOLD 

AT  THE  GATE  OF  DREAMS 

AN  OATEN  PIPE 

A  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  LULLABIES 

POEMS 

In  prose 
LOITERINGS   IN   OLD  FIELDS 

REMEMBERED  DAYS 
RETRIBUTION 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAG« 

I.   THE  RESCUE,  -        -        4 

II.   THE  LEGEND,          ...  12 

III.  A  HAUNTED  MIND,     -                -  -        -        -      20 

IV.  A  WILD  ROSE,  ...           26 
V.    THE  NEW  EDEN,  -      33 

VI.   A  SHATTERED  DREAM,    -  41 

VII.   THE  CAPTURE  OF  THE  CITADEL,  ...      50 

VIII.   STORM  AND  STRESS,  -         5* 

IX.   THE  BLIGHT,       -  .....      64 

X.   THE  Loss  OF  THE  PHOSPHOR,  ...          73 


CHAPTER  I 

Hetfcue 


"The  isle  is  full  of  noises, 

Sounds,  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight  and  hurt  not." 
—THE  TEMPEST,  ACT  III. 

"The  serene  and  placid  glassy  deep, 
Which  fain  would  lull  its  river-child  to  sleep." 

— BYRON. 


N  the  bosom  of  a  mighty  river, 
which  in  its  descent  to  the  ocean 
washes  our  border  on  the  north, 
lies  hard  by  the  Canadian  shore, 
and  among  uncounted  others,  the 
goodly  island  of  St.  Eustace.  Broad 
and  fertile  farms  extend  across  it  from  water 
to  water,  and  the  varied  landscape  is  beautiful 
with  patches  of  golden  grain  and  waving  woods 
and  glimpses  of  the  river  between. 

On  a  summer  day,  reclining  upon  a  mild 
declivity  in  the  grateful  umbrage  of  the  trees, 
one  may  see  the  white  sails  of  the  smaller  craft 
fluttering  like  vanes  of  butterflies  across  the 
stream,  while  often  a  black-hulled  freighter 
pants  steadily  on  its  seaward  way.  Then,  too, 
if  the  drowsy  beauty  of  the  scene  has  not 
steeped  the  senses  overmuch,  one  can  hear, 
faint  and  far  like  the  melodious  measures  of 
a  dream,  the  untutored  song  of  the  fisherman 
9 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

as  he  rounds  the  miniature  cape  below,  seeking 
cooler  waters  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliff. 

Looking  down  the  river,  on  the  left  may  be 
clearly  descried  the  blue  line  of  the  Canadian 
shore,  and  further  on  the  right,  though  soft- 
ened by  distance,  the  rolling  landscape  of  the 
American  coast.  A  few  gauzelike  clouds  drift 
along  the  azure  expanse  overhead;  and  in  the 
river  below,  reflected  as  if  in  a  mirror,  tremble 
the  uncertain  images  of  the  earth  and  sky. 
Now  and  then  a  gray  gull  or  two  will  take  a 
circling  flight  over  the  sleeping  waters,  or  a 
swallow  will  shatter  for  a  moment  the  inverted 
landscape  in  the  river's  quivering  world  as  she 
dips  one  rapid  wing  on  her  passage  from  shore 
to  shore. 

Unnumbered  larger  and  smaller  islands  lie 
grouped  about,  stretching  onward  in  the  dis- 
tance far  as  the  eye  can  see,  as  though  some 
Titanic  hand  had  hurled  a  planet  out  of  the 
heavens  and  scattered  its  emerald  fragments 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  stream.  It  is  both  like 
and  unlike  a  picture.  A  lovelier  scene  has 
10 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

never  greeted  mortal  vision,  and  human  ears 
have  never  heard  a  sweeter  music  than  the 
fisher's  song  mellowed  by  distance,  and  the 
silvery  tinkling  of  the  waves  upon  the  beach. 
One  need  not  travel  far  to  find  an  earthly 
Paradise.  Unlike  poor  Pilgrim's  journey  to 
the  Celestial  City,  with  little  discomfort  and 
less  vicissitude,  the  traveler  may  now  arrive 
at  almost  as  fair  a  bourne. 

How  sweet  it  would  be  in  such  a  place  to 
live  a  life  relieved  of  sordidness  and  exempt 
from  human  suffering ;  from  childhood  to  child- 
hood, with  the  space  between  one  long  bright 
dream  of  innocence  and  love!  "Heaven  lies 
about  us  in  our  infancy;"  but  life's  morning 
skies,  flushed  with  hope  and  the  promise  of  a 
beneficent  future,  too  soon  are  overcast  with 
the  imminent  clouds  of  destiny.  Happy  he  who 
learns  duly  to  value  the  present,  and  await 
the  future  as  a  doubtful  boon.  Could  we  con- 
tinue as  a  little  child — in  sinlessness,  unques- 
tioning faith,  and  fresh  outlook  upon  life — 
then  indeed  might  the  world  return  to  its 
ii 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

primal  purity  and  simplicity,  as  in  the  days  be- 
fore man's  sad  undoing. 

Such  were  the  reflections  awakened  in  the 
mind  as  the  details  of  the  glorious  scene  be- 
came one  by  one  more  sensibly  denned.  For 
on  a  gentle  eminence,  adding  an  exquisite 
touch  to  surroundings  which  were  already  of 
surpassing  loveliness,  sat  a  little  maid,  of  eight 
or  nine  summers,  overlooking  the  panorama 
of  shining  sails  and  glimmering  oars  below. 
It  could  be  seen  at  a  glance  that  she  was  a  pre- 
cocious child.  Day  after  day  she  had  gazed 
upon  that  same  unrivaled  landscape,  and  day 
by  day  its  marvelous  beauty  had  entered  into 
her  spirit,  until  it  had  become  incorporate  with 
her  being — a  thing  of  gladness  and  abundant 
light.  Indeed,  she  herself  seemed  to  be  in- 
separable from  the  scene  which  framed  her; 
there  was  that  about  her  lissome  body,  and  the 
swinging,  graceful  motion  of  her  limbs,  which 
was  of  the  river;  its  murmur  was  in  her  voice 
and  its  changing  shadows  in  her  eyes. 

There  was  a  harmony  between  a  daisy  and 
12 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  child  that  caused  the  beholder  to  wonder 
whether  she  also  had  not  been  fed  on  sunshine 
and  dew,  under  the  liberal  skies,  and  nour- 
ished by  the  generous  earth,  as  had  the  flower 
itself;  and  when  she  climbed  the  rocky  prom- 
ontory and  stood  among  the  gray  bowlders 
under  a  storm-scarred  pine,  there  was  nothing 
in  its  gnarled  bole  and  her  small  lithe  figure 
that  did  not  fairly  comport.  She  lost  her  iden- 
tity amid  the  things  around  her,  and  every  com- 
ponent of  her  environment  took  a  subtle  char- 
acter from  her  presence.  Her  complexion  was 
very  fair,  and  its  fairness  was  not  lessened  by 
the  freckles  sprinkled  over  her  tiny  nose  and 
flower-like  cheeks.  A  child  born  of  wind  and 
water,  of  sun  and  rain — a  strange  sweet  child 
even  the  most  casual  observer  must  confess. 

Long  she  sat  looking  out  over  the  bright 
reaches  of  the  river,  with  longing  in  her  eyes 
and  unconscious  impatience  revealed  in  her 
pouted  lips.  That  river  and  that  island  were 
all  she  knew  of  the  world.  She  had  heard  of 
huge  cities,  of  mountains  so  high  that  their 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

tbpmost  peaks  were  piled  against  the  clouds,  of 
larger  ships  than  ever  yet  her  eyes  had  rested 
on,  of  iron  steeds  that,  snorting  smoke  and  fire, 
trod  an  iron  track  with  the  speed  of  the  wind — 
she  had  heard  of  all  these,  and  she  yearned  to 
test  their  reality  by  personal  experience. 

She  loved  her  island  home,  but  inwardly 
she  fretted  to  know  what  wonders  lay  beyond 
the  tremulous  line  that  bounded  the  horizon 
of  her  own  familiar  realm.  In  her  aspect  and 
in  her  manner  there  was  something  faint  and 
indefinable  which  impressed  one,  even  in  a 
child  so  young,  with  a  sense  of  inconstancy; 
not  that  which  always  attaches  in  some  degree 
to  childhood,  but  of  a  purposelessness,  an  elf- 
like  willfulness,  that  was  not  an  accident  of  im- 
maturity, but  rather  an  incident  of  tempera- 
ment. 

Tired  at  last  of  inactivity,  she  rose  and 
glided  down  the  slope,  filling  her  pinafore  with 
buttercups  and  daisies  as  she  went,  and  entered 
a  small  brightly-painted  skiff  that  lay  swaying 
upon  the  water  below.  The  skiff  was  moored 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

to  the  shore,  but  the  chain  was  of  sufficient 
length  to  allow  the  boat  to  play  wholly  clear 
of  the  land,  though  at  no  time  was  it  so  far 
from  the  bank  that  an  athlete  could  not  have 
leaped  into  it  at  a  single  bound. 

The  child  chose  the  seat  in  that  end  of  the 
skiff  farthest  from  the  shore,  and  there  she 
wove  her  flowers  into  a  kind  of  chaplet  which 
she  bound  about  her  hat.  Then  she  took  other 
blossoms  and  made  a  necklace  which  she  looped 
about  her  neck,  the  while  fancying  herself  a 
naiad — just  such  a  being  as  Jasper  had  told 
her  dwelt  in  the  water.  In  truth  she  seemed  to 
be  a  nymph — an  airy,  evanescent  shape  that 
might  at  any  moment  vanish  out  of  sight. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  thought  of  the  water 
sprite  that  caused  her  to  lean  out  from  the  boat 
and  gaze  down  into  the  dusk  mirror  of  the 
stream ;  or  it  may  be  that  the  latent  vanity  of 
the  woman  asserted  itself  in  the  child,  and  that 
she  looked  with  satisfaction  at  her  own  sweet 
image  reflected  in  the  wave,  admiring  her 
sunny  beauty,  the  adornment  of  her  hat,  and 
15 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  flowers  about  her  neck.  How  pretty! 
True,  the  little  girl  in  the  water  was  duskier 
than  the  little  girl  in  the  boat,  and  seemed  to 
quiver  constantly,  yet  for  all  that  she  was 
very  pretty.  But  she  observed  that  a  flower 
had  become  displaced  in  the  garland  about  her 
hat.  She  must  straightway  adjust  it. 

"Jasper!  Jasper!" 

Leaning  too  far  out  from  the  careening  skiff 
the  child  lost  her  balance.  Vainly  she  clutched 
at  the  gunwale  of  the  boat.  The  day  was  sud- 
denly extinguished,  and  the  huge  darkness, 
flecked  with  fire,  spun  round  her. 

There  was  a  rushing  sound  in  her  ears. 
She  remembered  the  events  of  her  brief  life. 
She  dimly  speculated,  and  without  any  touch 
of  sorrow,  as  to  what  her  friends  would  say 
when  they  should  find  her  drowned.  She  had 
time  to  send  forth  only  one  shrill  and  terrified 
cry — it  was  wholly  involuntary — when  the 
waters  closed  over  her  ere  the  echo  of  her  voice 
had  died  among  the  rocks.  There  were  a  few 
concentric  circles  upon  the  water,  an  eddy  or 
16 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

two,  and  the  treacherous  stream  was  placid  as 
before. 

A  bird  ruffled  its  soft  throat  as  it  sang  to 
its  nesting  mate  cloistered  amid  the  leaves. 
Midges  danced  in  the  wavy  air.  Small  black 
beetles,  disturbed  for  a  moment  by  the  splash, 
returned  to  skate  their  delirious  mazes  amid 
arrowheads  and  water  arums.  From  afar  was 
borne  the  drowsy  crowing  of  a  cock.  In  the 
distance  a  steamer,  with  the  brown  smoke  trail- 
ing from  her  funnel,  long  to  hang  midway  be- 
tween sky  and  wave,  throbbed  along  her  course. 
Life  pursued  its  way  in  gladness,  nor  recked 
that  death  was  busy  in  the  world. 

Only  the  wide  hat  with  its  wreath  of  flowers 
floating  above  the  spot  where  the  child  had 
disappeared  hinted  at  what  had  befallen  her. 
An  instant  later  there  was  a  crashing  among 
the  bushes  near  the  shore,  and  a  boy  with  white 
and  frightened  face  came  leaping  down  the 
slope. 

"Margy !  Margy !" 

There  was  no  need  to  call  again.  He  saw 
2  17 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  girl's  hat  with  its  crown  of  flowers  floating 
upon  the  water,  and  understood  the  disaster. 
The  next  moment,  with  lusty  strokes  he  was 
swimming  to  the  shore,  bearing  the  lifeless 
form  of  the  beautiful  child.  Tenderly  laying 
her  down  upon  the  green  sward,  he  chafed  the 
cold  hands  and  wet  brow,  kissed  the  closed 
eyes  and  pale  lips,  and  called  again  and  again : 

"Margy!  Margy!  look  up,  dear!  Speak 
to  me,  Margy !" 

Still  she  did  not  move  nor  utter  a  sound, 
but  lay  with  her  hands  white  as  marble  upon 
her  little  breast.  Her  fair  hair,  from  which 
the  water  trickled  down  her  temples,  was  filled 
with  weeds  and  sand. 

The  boy  was  in  a  frenzy  of  despair.  He 
shouted  until  he  was  hoarse.  He  would  catch 
up  the  unconscious  child  in  his  arms,  bear  her 
a  short  distance,  when  the  dead  weight  of  his 
burden  becoming  too  heavy  for  him  to  carry 
further,  he  would  lay  the  dear  body  gently 
down  and  dart  swiftly  away,  then  pausing  and 
looking  backward,  he  would  wheel  about  and 
18 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

rush  to  the  child's  side,  shouting  with  renewed 
vigor. 

At  length  a  fisherman,  attracted  by  the  boy's 
cries,  hastened  to  the  spot,  took  the  child  in  his 
arms,  and  carried  her  to  her  home.  It  was  but 
two  or  three  minutes  from  the  time  the  little 
maid  was  rescued  from  the  water  until  the 
fisherman  came,  yet  to  the  agonized  boy  they 
seemed  endless  ages. 

Homeward  he  followed  the  fisherman  and 
his  precious  burden,  weeping  all  the  way.  Up 
a  graveled  walk,  through  a  wilderness  of 
flowers  and  blooming  shrubs,  the  man  hurried, 
with  the  boy,  dog  like,  at  his  heels.  A  gray 
and  weather-beaten  mansion  was  before  them. 
Not  long  they  tarried  at  its  oaken  door,  but, 
with  the  informality  begotten  of  the  hour's 
need,  they  knocked  and  entered. 

In  a  moment  the  household  was  in  con- 
fusion. There  were  inquiries,  importunities, 
reproaches,  calls  for  various  medicines,  cries 
of  "silence,"  "stand  back,"  "more  air,"  heeded 
by  no  one  and  all  mingled  in  a  babel  of  sound. 
19 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

But  the  confusion  did  not  continue  long: 
a  dark,  proud-looking  gentleman  appeared, 
and  chaos  was  instantly  reduced  to  order. 
Hastily  dispatching  a  servant  for  a  physician 
and  giving  the  necessary  directions  for  restor- 
atives, flannels,  and  quilts,  he  sat  down  by  the 
insensible  child,  whom  the  distracted  attend- 
ants had  placed  upon  a  couch,  and  began  to 
chafe  her  hands  and  her  feet.  Then  in  an  agi- 
tated voice  he  inquired  of  the  fisherman  how  it 
had  happened. 

"Indeed,  sir,"  said  the  fisherman,  thickly, 
"I  cawn't  tell  'ee.  I  hearn  th'  boy  a-yellin' 
roun'  the  cape,  and  when  I  got  where  he  wos, 
she  was  dead.  An  'I  jest  took  her  up  and 
brung  her  heere." 

"All  right,  my  good  man,  you  may  go  now ; 
come  to  me  to-morrow,"  replied  the  gentleman. 

Then  turning  to  the  boy  who,  pulling  at  his 
cap,  stood  near  with  strained  eyes  full  of  an- 
guish, 

"Jasper,  can  you  tell  me  how  this  hap- 
pened?" 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

"I  do  n't  know,  sir,"  answered  the  boy, 
choking  with  sobs;  "I  was  coming  across  the 
lower  field  by  the  cape,  when  I  heard  Margy 
scream,  'JasPer'  Jasper!'  and  running  down 
to  the  little  skiff,  I  saw  her  hat  with  flowers 
around  it  floating  on  the  water.  Then  I  knew 
that  she  had  fallen  in,  and  diving  down  by  the 
boat,  sir,  I  was  just  in  time  to  get  her  out  of 
the  current  that  was  taking  her  under  the  shelf. 
But  O  sir,  is  she  dead — will  she  die?"  asked 
the  boy,  his  tears  bursting  forth  afresh. 

"We  hope  not,  Jasper;  but  you  too  had 
better  go  just  now ;  you  're  a  brave  lad,  and  I 
think  you  have  saved  the  life  of  my  little  girl." 

Over  the  dark  features  of  Henry  Lesage 
passed  a  spasm  of  love  and  grief,  and  the  man's 
voice  broke  as  he  answered  the  lad. 

The  quilts  and  flannels  and  other  appliances 
having  arrived,  with  the  utmost  anxiety  upon 
the  part  of  all,  the  work  of  resuscitation  pro- 
ceeded. In  a  short  time  the  child  began  to 
discover  signs  of  returning  animation,  and 
when  the  physician  arrived  and  medical  knowl- 
21 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

edge  was  added  to  household  skill,  the  little 
life  that  had  been  so  nearly  extinct  once  more 
revived. 

All  this  while  the  faithful  Jasper  had  been 
lingering  about  the  outer  door,  with  a  mingled 
solicitude  and  dread  in  his  eyes,  and  whenever 
a  servant  appeared  and  persuaded  him  to  go  he 
would  only  question  in  an  intense  whisper, 

"Is  she  dead — will  she  die?" 

Assured,  at  last,  that  she  was  not  dead,  and 
that  with  proper  care  she  would  probably  re- 
cover, the  loyal  little  fellow  consented  to  go 
home,  although  it  was  not  until  the  shadows 
of  evening  had  deepened  into  night  and  all  the 
fields  were  drenched  with  falling  dew. 

Next  morning,  hardly  had  the  early  dawn 
tipped  the  white-caps  on  the  river  with  flame 
when  Jasper  was  in  wait  at  the  door  of  the 
mansion  to  learn  the  condition  of  his  little 
friend. 

For  weeks  the  child  hovered  between  life 
and  death.  But  the  devotion  of  the  boy  knew 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

no  weariness.  Day  after  day,  from  the  first 
glimpse  of  morning  to  the  deep  dusk  of  night 
he  was  constantly  there,  sometimes  sitting  dis- 
consolately on  the  doorstep,  sometimes  wander- 
ing about  the  lawn,  always  waiting,  always 
patient,  always  anxious,  nor  was  he  ever  absent 
from  his  self-appointed  watch  except  at  night 
and  at  brief  intervals  during  the  day.  He 
seemed  to  have  lost  something — to  have  missed 
out  of  his  life  that  which  heretofore  he  had 
always  known,  and  in  his  aimless  excursions 
about  the  garden  walks  he  was  forever  in  quest 
of  that  which  he  never  found. 

Once  during  the  child's  illness  he  was  per- 
mitted to  see  her,  and  his  rapture  knew  no 
bounds.  With  great  sorrowful  eyes,  he  stood 
looking  at  her  emaciated  face,  until  a  big  tear 
slid  down  his  brown  cheek,  leaving  a  shining 
wet  furrow  behind  it.  He  would  have  wiped 
it  away,  but  he  was  afraid  to  stir  lest  he  might 
disturb  the  girl.  But  when  she  turned  her 
sweet  face  toward  him,  and  reached  out  her 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

little  wasted  hand  to  clasp  his  own,  his  heart 
thumped  so  wildly  against  his  bosom  that  he 
thought  she  must  surely  hear  it. 

He  did  not  remain  long  in  the  sick  room. 
The  doctor  had  said  that  the  child  must  be  kept 
quiet,  and  remembering  this  the  boy  crept  softly 
out  of  her  presence  without  essaying  a  single 
word. 

Thenceforth  he  was  very  restful  and  con- 
tent, and  through  all  the  weary  days  of  his 
after-waiting  the  memory  of  her  smile  and 
touch  was  manna  to  his  soul. 


CHAPTER  II 

iUgrno 


"Though  those  that  are  betray'd 
Do  feel  the  treason  sharply,  yet  the  traitor 
Stands  in  worse  case  of  woe." 


HERE  ran  a  curious  legend  among 
the  small  aristocracy  of  the  island, 
as  well  as  among  the  humble  fisher- 
men and  their  gossiping  wives — a 
legend  related  only  at  nightwatch, 
within  the  garrulous  influence  of 
the  chimney-corner,  and  over  the  friendly  pipe 
and  mug. 

It  was  said  that  Abner  Forsyth,  a  remote 
ancestor  of  the  Forsyths  then  resident  in  that 
neighborhood,  had  been  the  original  owner  of 
the  entire  island  of  St.  Eustace.  The  island 
had  come  into  his  possession  by  virtue  of  a 
grant,  awarded  in  recognition  of  some  valu- 
able services  rendered  the  government,  and 
signed  by  the  viceroy  of  Canada  and  several 
Huron  sagamores.  After  having  obtained  this 
reward  of  merit,  Forsyth  erected  upon  a  pic- 
turesque portion  of  the  island  a  mansion  of 
27 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

spacious  dimensions  for  himself  and  his  pos- 
terity. 

There  also  dwelt  at  this  time,  upon  a  small 
tract  of  the  island  not  far  from  Forsyth's 
residence,  a  Frenchman  who  bore  the  patro- 
nymic of  Lesage.  This  man  Lesage  had  a  son 
Leonard,  a  young  man  of  doubtful  repute, 
concerning  whom  untoward  things  were  hinted 
from  time  to  time  by  various  residents  of  the 
then  sparsely  settled  countryside — untoward 
things,  such  as  pirating  on  the  waters  of  the 
lake  and  river;  a  secret  alliance  with  British 
soldiers  whereby  he  had  engaged  to  furnish  a 
portion  of  the  supplies  for  the  British  fort  gar- 
risoned near  the  head  of  the  river;  a  spy,  a 
smuggler — in  fact,  nearly  every  phase  of  dis- 
loyalty toward  the  government  to  which  he  pro- 
fessed allegiance. 

However,  amid  all  these  disreputable 
charges,  nothing  definite  had  been  proved ;  for 
the  good  people  of  that  day,  as  now — bearing 
witness  to  the  essential  unity  of  human  nature 
in  all  ages  and  among  all  peoples — busied  them- 
28 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

selves  with  the  circulation  of  derogatory  reports 
rather  than  with  the  accumulation  of  positive 
evidence.  Hence  at  the  period  of  the  erection 
of  the  Forsyth  mansion  upon  the  island  near 
his  father's  humble  habitation,  it  was  no  more 
than  a  dark  suspicion  which  rested  upon  the 
character  of  Leonard  Lesage. 

Abner  Forsyth  occupied  important  places 
in  certain  departments  of  both  the  army  and 
the  State,  which  were  then  nearly  identical, 
and  which  demanded  the  larger  share  of  his 
attention  at  the  seat  of  government;  hence  he 
was  absent  from  his  island  home  a  consider- 
able portion  of  the  time.  In  view  of  this  cir- 
cumstance, it  so  fell  out  that  the  elder  Lesage, 
who  was  by  profession  a  gardener — though 
small  opportunity  he  found  for  the  exercise  of 
his  function  at  that  date  and  in  that  locality — 
was  engaged  to  perform  all  tasks  requiring 
masculine  strength  and  care  which  might  arise 
on  the  Forsyth  estate.  Thus  Lesage  and  his 
hopeful  son  were  very  frequently  at  the  new 
mansion. 

29 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

We  are  here  constrained  to  record  a  rumor 
which  was  freely  circulated  at  that  time  touch- 
ing this  same  Lesage;  though  it  should  not  be 
understood  that  credence  is  to  be  given  to  a 
report  so  obnoxious  to  this  gentleman's  moral 
heritage.  It  was  told,  and  with  no  apparent 
reluctance,  that  a  paternal  ancestor  of  Lesage 
had  been  released  from  a  French  prison, 
wherein  he  had  been  incarcerated  for  homicide, 
on  that  fortunate  or  unfortunate  occasion  when 
Le  Roque  undertook  to  colonize  New  France. 
If  this  were  so,  Lesage  had  forgotten  it,  or 
chose  to  ignore  it,  for  he  never  alluded  to  it 
in  the  remotest  manner. 

Affairs  had  maintained  these  relative  po- 
sitions for  upwards  of  two  years  when  it  came 
to  be  whispered  abroad,  whence  originating  no 
one  knew,  that  Abner  Forsyth  had  been  de- 
tected in  questionable  transactions  affecting 
the  government  which  he  served.  At  that  early 
day  the  most  primitive  modes  of  traveling  were 
observed,  and  often  Forsyth  would  drop  down 
the  river  in  a  canoe  as  far  as  the  rude  and  em- 
30 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

bryonic  city  where  were  then  held  the  deliber- 
ations of  State. 

On  other  occasions  he  would  proceed  to  the 
mainland  by  a  rough,  narrow  bridge,  and  on 
horseback  pursue  through  trackless  forests  the 
weary  miles  that  lay  between  his  own  fair  island 
and  the  distant  town. 

Abner  Forsyth  was  a  silent  man.  Kind, 
courteous,  wearing  always  a  countenance  calm 
in  its  strength,  he  seemed  not  unmeet  to  dwell 
amid  those  vast  solitudes  through  which  he 
moved.  The  primeval  forests  had  no  terrors 
for  him.  The  towering,  many- wintered  trees 
seemed  to  spread  above  him  palms  of  benedic- 
tion. The  little  red  mosses  at  his  feet  glowed 
upon  him  like  loving  eyes.  The  squirrels  bark- 
ing from  the  pendant  boughs,  and  the  nut- 
hatches beating  their  light  tattoos  upon  the 
shaggy  trunks,  made  for  him  pleasant  sounds. 
In  the  open,  the  tall  fire-weed  caressed  his  stir- 
rup as  he  rode  by;  St.  John's  wort  and  blue 
vervain  nodded  like  friends,  and  the  umbels  of 
the  swamp  milkweed  shook  out  perfume  for 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

him  as  from  censers  swung  by  invisible  hands. 
He  loved  the  things  of  nature,  and  found  com- 
panionship in  loneliest  places. 

When  the  waters  of  the  river  rippled  be- 
neath his  canoe,  there  was  deep  contentment 
in  his  heart.  He  was  a  simple  gentleman,  just 
in  all  his  ways,  trying  to  do  his  duty  as  he 
understood  it;  so  he  could  not  discern  any 
malevolent  forces  round  him  to  work  him  ill. 
The  river  sang  to  him  as  it  flowed.  The  dusky, 
half-naked  children  of  the  forest  he  did  not 
fear,  for  he  treated  them  like  fellow-men  whom 
he  would  not  injure,  and  from  whom  injury 
could  not  come  to  him. 

What  wonder  then  that  sometimes,  in  a 
waking  dream,  amid  the  enormous  manifesta- 
tions of  elemental  things,  hearing  the  unfettered 
winds  like  a  limitless  surf  murmuring  in  in- 
numerable treetops,  or  the  surges  of  the  angry 
river,  scourged  by  sudden  storms,  leaping 
against  the  granite  shoulders  of  the  world ;  see- 
ing the  planets  rolling  in  splendor  through  the 
purple  darkness  of  the  heavens,  or  sunset 
32 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

clouds,  bank  beyond  bank,  glowing  above  the 
embers  of  the  day  whose  fires  slowly  died  below 
the  glooming  verges  of  the  west, — what  wonder 
if  he  sometimes  lingered  and  fed  his  soul  upon 
great  thoughts  amid  the  majesty  and  the  beauty 
that  beat  in  upon  his  life? 

It  was  on  these  solitary  journeys,  it  was 
said,  that  Forsyth  met  certain  British  officers 
to  impart  to  them  information  of  great  conse- 
quence respecting  French  fortifications  and 
movements,  as  well  as  other  matters  vital  to  the 
old  regime. 

In  fact,  it  was  declared  by  those  who  most 
actively  interested  themselves  in  the  supposed 
defection,  that  the  distance  had  been  carefully 
measured  and  the  time  noted  in  which  the 
journey  could  be  accomplished  between  the 
island  and  the  town,  by  either  land  or  water, 
and  that  on  several  occasions  Forsyth  had 
failed  within  a  reasonable  period  to  make  his 
appearance  at  the  town,  when  it  was  known 
precisely  at  what  hour  he  had  set  out  from  the 
island. 

3  33 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

At  length  it  was  determined  that  Forsyth 
should  be  watched;  and,  as  persons  possess- 
ing the  necessary  caution  and  finesse,  Lesage 
and  his  son  Leonard  were  commissioned  with 
this  charge.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
Forsyth  did  not  hear  of  these  reports  touch- 
ing his  alleged  treason;  but  he  was  a  man  of 
lofty  and  unbending  pride,  and  uniformly  met 
with  a  scornful  silence  all  remarks  involving 
his  fair  reputation.  Such  behavior,  of  course, 
tended  to  increase  rather  than  diminish  the 
public  mistrust  concerning  him. 

It  is  a  singular  trait  of  human  nature  that 
when  once  suspicion  is  aroused  toward  an  in- 
dividual, people  are  disregardful  of  the  truth 
or  falsity  of  the  alleged  wrong-doing  propor- 
tionately to  the  degree  of  favor  which  that  in- 
dividual has  reached  in  public  and  private  esti- 
mation; so  that  the  self-same  charge,  which 
preferred  against  an  obscure  person  would  be 
listened  to  with  indifference,  or  be  set  aside 
as  mere  hearsay,  pronounced  against  one  occu- 


34 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

pying  a  prominent  place  in  the  world  is  deemed 
a  fact  already  established. 

Moreover,  it  is  a  strange  perversion  of  the 
moral  instinct,  that  we  hear  with  a  kind  of 
inward  gratification  of  the  misfortunes  of  an- 
other, and  silently  exult  in  the  ruin  of  one  who 
has  long  received  the  honors  of  mankind.  It 
is  true,  the  lips  are  often  ready  to  frame  words 
of  deprecation  and  sometimes  excuse,  and  to 
deplore  the  frailty  of  human  kind,  but,  never- 
theless, the  heart  is  secretly  glad  when  the  icon- 
oclastic tongue  of  slander  has  shattered  some 
public  idol. 

It  was  so  in  the  present  instance.  When 
obloquy  became  positively  attached  to  the  name 
of  Abner  Forsyth  people  did  not  hesitate  to 
regard  as  true  all  that  was  uttered  against  him, 
and  to  brand  as  a  traitor  the  same  man  to  whom 
a  brief  period  before  they  had  yielded  liberal 
homage.  It  became  notorious,  moreover,  that 
Lesage  and  his  son  Leonard  were  the  chief  wit- 
nesses to  the  treacherous  practices  of  Abner 


35 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

Forsyth;  though  at  first  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  whence  the  accusation  had  originated. 

As  Forsyth  declined,  Lesage  seemed  to  rise 
in  the  esteem  of  his  neighbors.  It  appeared 
that  his  real  deserts  were  only  now  beginning 
to  be  known.  Men  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
the  uncertain  character  which  the  old  man  and 
his  son  had  previously  borne;  or  if  they  re- 
membered it,  they  discreetly  held  their  peace, 
not  caring  to  risk  their  own  popularity  in  stem- 
ming the  current  of  public  opinion  which  had 
set  so  strongly  against  Forsyth. 

The  fact  that  Forsyth  himself  was  an  alien 
by  birth,  and  that  national  animosity  had  so 
long  existed  between  the  English  and  the 
French — it  being  peculiarly  bitter  at  that  pe- 
riod of  our  colonial  history — might  have  in- 
tensified the  suspicion  against  him.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  one  thing  was  indisputable;  whereas 
before  he  had  been  honored  as  a  public  bene- 
factor, now  he  was  looked  upon  as  an  outlaw 
and  traitor. 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

One  night,  under  the  guidance  of  the  old 
gardener  and  his  son,  a  party  of  government 
officials  swooped  down  upon  the  mansion  of 
Abner  Forsyth,  where  they  discovered,  much 
to  their  astonishment  and  indignation,  a  small 
detachment  of  British  red  coats  making  merry 
over  Forsyth's  wine ;  boisterous,  roystering  fel- 
lows, toasting  themselves,  the  British  army,  and 
each  other,  and  fulminating  loud  curses  against 
every  Frenchman  in  the  new  world  or  the  old. 

But  where  was  Forsyth  ?  Not  anywhere  to 
be  found.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  too,  when 
the  members  of  his  family,  who  were  in  an- 
other part  of  the  mansion  quite  out  of  reach 
of  the  sound  of  the  noisy  soldiers,  were  ap- 
prised of  the  officials'  visit,  they  were  equally 
surprised  and  distressed;  surprised  at  the  un- 
seasonable hour  in  which  the  magnates  had 
come,  and  distressed  that  their  distrust  had 
taken  such  a  hostile  expression.  But  when 
they  were  questioned  regarding  the  British  sol- 
diery that  had  been  found  in  the  house,  their 


37 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

grief  and  consternation  knew  no  bounds ;  and 
mother,  daughters,  and  sons  declared  with  one 
voice  that  it  was  all  a  wicked  conspiracy  to 
bring  about  the  ruin  of  their  household. 

Thenceforward  Forsyth's  guilt  seemed  es- 
tablished beyond  a  doubt.  He  was  straight- 
way apprehended,  hurriedly  tried,  and  sen- 
tenced to  be  executed.  Justice,  crude  and  un- 
certain in  those  pioneer  days,  could  yet  claim 
one  redeeming  quality — she  moved  not  always 
upon  laggard  feet. 

It  is  averred  that  the  younger  Lesage,  being 
detailed  to  assist  in  the  execution,  exhibited 
great  alacrity  and  satisfaction  in  obeying  the 
summons. 

The  appointed  hour  having  arrived,  as  the 
doomed  man  stood  confronting  the  ten  grim 
riflemen  who  were  to  launch  him  into  eternity, 
it  is  said  that,  ere  they  were  bound,  he  lifted 
his  hands  toward  heaven,  then  turning  to 
Leonard  Lesage,  uttered  in  a  voice  as  from  the 
grave  these  heart-shaking  words: 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

"God  will  yet  visit  retribution  on  you  and 
yours." 

The  fatal  signal  was  given,  ten  rifles  were 
simultaneously  discharged,  and  Abner  Forsyth 
fell  to  the  ground  with  a  half -score  of  bullets 
buried  in  his  breast. 

A  little  cloud  of  smoke  rose  and  drifted 
lazily  away ;  the  sunlight  twinkled  on  grass  and 
trees;  the  river  bared  its  gleaming  bosom  to 
the  eye  of  day ;  lofty  rocks  doubled  their  bulks 
in  the  glassy  tide;  birds  caroled  in  sequestered 
places;  a  crow  cawed  sleepily  from  a  distant 
pine;  life  flowed  on  as  before;  and  naught 
hinted  of  that  tragedy  of  shameful  death,  save 
the  still  quivering  form  which  lay  face  down- 
wards where  it  had  fallen. 

It  is  added  further  that,  in  compensation 
of  his  distinguished  services  to  his  country,  the 
entire  island  of  St.  Eustace — bating  about  a 
hundred  acres,  which,  by  an  act  of  clemency 
on  the  part  of  the  government,  were  reserved 
for  the  otherwise  destitute  family  of  Abner 


39 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

Forsyth — was  conferred  upon  the  elder  Lesage 
and  his  heirs  forever. 

Every  building  of  the  dead  traitor  was  con- 
fiscated; nothing  was  left  his  unhappy  family 
but  a  scant  hundred  acres  of  uncultivated  glebe 
in  an  extreme  part  of  the  island.  But  the 
strangest  portion  of  the  legend  is  yet  to  follow. 


40 


CHAPTER  III 

OauntrD 


"To  write  the  poem  of  the  human  conscience, 
were  the  subject  only  one  man,  and  he  the 
lowest  of  men,  would  be  reducing  all  epic 
poems  into  one  supreme  and  final  epos." 

— VICTOR  HUGO,  "Les  Miserables.' 


T  so  fell  out  that,  after  three  or  four 
generations  had  passed,  the  Lesage 
estate  came  into  the  possession  of 
one  Clement  Lesage.  This  worthy 
gentleman,  who  had  been  early  be- 
reaved of  his  faithful  consort,  but 
who  for  some  reason  known  only  to  himself 
had  not  deemed  it  prudent  to  wed  again,  was 
the  happy,  or  more  truly  unhappy,  father  of  a 
little  son  and  daughter.  He  was  a  person  re- 
tired in  his  habits,  quiet,  and  given  to  reading 
Holy  Writ  and  to  taking  solitary  and  nocturnal 
rambles,  during  which  he  often  indulged  in  the 
oddest  freaks  and  eccentricities  of  behavior. 

It  was  affirmed  by  those  who  knew  him 
best,  that  he  was  burdened  with  a  ceaseless 
melancholy.  The  canker  of  a  diseased  con- 
science was  apparently  gnawing  at  his  soul. 
He  would  sit  for  hours  brooding  in  the  sun- 
shine before  his  door,  sometimes  perusing  the 
43 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

Sacred  Page,  at  other  times  mumbling  to  him- 
self of  treachery  and  an  ancient  curse. 

The  house  cat  purred  comfortably  at  his 
feet.  In  the  bloom-starred  vine  above  his  head 
a  yellow  warbler  gurgled  its  joy  into  the  lan- 
guid ear  of 'day.  Self-heal,  as  conscious  of  the 
irony  in  its  name,  in  purple  ranks  trooped  to  his 
very  seat;  and  his  gaze,  turn  it  whithersoever 
he  would,  was  never  free  from  the  obsessions 
of  the  daisy  fleabane  and  the  pale  muskmallow. 
Once  he  had  loved  these  common  things ;  now 
they  were  to  him  a  source  of  irritation  and  dis- 
like. 

He  seemed  to  be  the  victim  of  the  fan- 
tasies of  a  morbid  mind.  He  was  wont  to 
tell  those  about  him  of  strange  visions  and 
mysterious  sounds,  seen  and  heard  only  in  the 
chambers  of  his  troubled  brain.  Yet  there  were 
not  infrequent  hours  of  lucidity,  when  he  would 
converse  with  the  urbanity  and  the  confidence 
of  an  accomplished  scholar,  and  give  evidence 
of  an  exquisite  refinement  and  fervor  of  nature. 


44 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

One  phantasm  more  than  all  others  ob- 
truded itself  upon  him  with  a  persistency  that 
rendered  wretched  his  very  existence.  It  was 
of  an  old  and  faded  man,  attired  in  antique 
regimentals  and  with  an  ugly  wound  at  his 
breast,  who  seemed  ceaselessly  to  invoke  from 
heaven  some  dreadful  fatality  upon  him  and 
his. 

"There!  Do  you  not  see  him?"  he  would 
shout,  "that  old  man  with  the  bloody  hole  in 
his  breast!  O,  he  will  curse  my  life!" — and 
then  he  would  froth  at  the  lips,  and  become 
livid  in  his  horror  and  fright. 

His  nervous  disorder  grew  upon  him;  he 
would  babble  for  hours  with  himself,  asking 
and  answering  unintelligible  questions,  or 
maintain  long  colloquies  with  the  dead  and 
buried  worthies  of  another  age. 

Betimes  he  became  hotly  vexed,  and,  beside 
himself  with  uncontrollable  rage,  would  strike 
at  the  airy  images  which  he  alone  discerned, 
at  the  same  time  applying  to  them  the  most 


45 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

opprobrious  epithets.  Then,  repentant  of  his 
folly,  he  would  become  dull  and  moody,  and 
fall  into  silence. 

There  were  occasions,  too,  on  which  he 
would  strenuously,  and  with  a  challenging  de- 
fiance, hint  of  poverty,  and  an  amendment  of 
an  old-time  wrong  and  usurpation.  Yet  he 
was  never  known  to  harm  the  smallest  living 
creature,  while  to  all  around  him  he  was  most 
affectionate  and  as  docile  as  a  lamb. 

Often,  with  drooping  head  and  vacant  eye, 
he  would  mutter  under  his  breath : 

"Go  back,  Clement,  go  back  to  the  cabin 
of  old  Gerard.  Your  home  is  there,  not  here. 
You  are  but  a  pauper,  born  of  a  race  of  pau- 
pers. Under  that*  rotting  roof,  and  beside  that 
grass-grown  doorstep,  you  may  find  peace." 

And  then  from  a  bosom  that  seemed  nigh 
to  bursting  he  would  heave  a  great  sigh,  and 
fall  dumb  in  pitiful  collapse. 

This  state  of  affairs  prevailed  for  a  con- 
siderable period,  until,  at  length,  through  the 
incessant  waste  of  nervous  energy  and  the  ulti- 
46 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

mate  exhaustion  of  his  malady,  Clement  Lesage 
was  brought  to  the  very  gates  of  death.  Then 
befell  a  scene,  the  like  of  which  may  never  have 
occurred  before. 

A  messenger  came  riding  post-haste  to  the 
dwelling  of  Basil  Forsyth,  a  lineal  descendant 
of  the  alleged  traitor,  with  the  announcement 
that  Clement  Lesage  lay  at  the  point  of  death, 
and,  ere  his  decease,  implored  an  interview  with 
Forsyth  on  matters  of  great  moment. 

Obeying  the  message,  Basil  Forsyth  was 
ushered  into  a  darkened  chamber,  where, 
propped  upon  pillows,  the  long-time  hypo- 
chondriac lay  dying.  Thus,  laden  with  sorrow 
and  tortured  by  memory,  fearing  to  bear  the 
burden  of  another's  crime  into  an  unknown 
world,  maddened  by  his  continued  malady,  and 
terrified  by  the  shadow  of  approaching  death, 
Clement  Lesage  made  a  revelation  such  as  the 
most  daring  speculation  in  the  island  had  never 
achieved. 

The  revelation  in  question  concerned  the 
present  Lesage's  ancestors,  old  Gerard  Lesage 
47 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

and  his  son  Leonard ;  how  they  had  first  essayed 
to  fasten  upon  Abner  Forsyth  the  suspicion  of 
treason;  how,  to  carry  out  their  dark  design, 
they  had  formed  an  elaborate  plan  whereby  a 
number  of  British  regulars  had  been  decoyed 
to  the  Forsyth  mansion  in  the  absence  of  its 
master,  treated  by  the  faithless  hirelings  of  the 
place  to  wine  and  such  other  good  cheer  as  the 
house  afforded,  and  then,  to  render  the  conclu- 
sion of  Forsyth's  guilt  beyond  a  doubt,  at  the 
very  hour  the  red-coats  were  toasting  each 
other  over  the  wine,  the  two  Frenchmen  had 
guided  the  government  officials  to  the  spot. 

It  seems  incredible  at  the  present  period  of 
adroitness  in  evil,  that  such  a  clumsy,  trans- 
parent plot  should  have  succeeded  so  well ;  but 
the  ignorant  and  ready  credulity  of  the  people 
of  that  time  should  be  remembered.  It  was  this 
same  credulity  that  begot  the  Salem  witchcraft, 
and  prompted  our  worthy  great-great-grand- 
mothers to  sever  a  handful  of  hair  from  a  cow's 
forelock  and  cast  it  into  the  fire  with  a  pinch  of 
salt  to  guard  the  animal  from  the  dire  effects  of 
48 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  evil  eye.  Side  by  side  with  the  superstitious 
characteristics  of  the  age  was  that  bitter  na- 
tional jealousy  so  quick  to  rise  into  deadly 
hatred  upon  the  slightest  provocation  or  pre- 
text. 

Clement  Lesage,  to  expiate  the  guilt  en- 
tailed upon  him  by  his  long-concealed  knowl- 
edge of  his  ancestor's  crime,  and  by  his  pro- 
tracted residence  upon  an  estate  belonging 
rightfully  to  another,  was  now  fain  to  make 
what  reparation  he  could.  He  therefore  caused 
papers  to  be  legally  drawn  and  executed,  deed- 
ing the  entire  Lesage  estate  to  Basil  Forsyth, 
but  with  one  condition ;  namely,  that  a  covenant 
of  marriage  should  be  instituted  between  the 
eldest  son  of  Basil  Forsyth  and  the  only  daugh- 
ter of  Clement  Lesage;  or,  in  case  of  the  de- 
cease of  either  during  the  interval  of  their  non- 
age, that  the  contract  should  be  fulfilled  be- 
tween the  next  nearest  kin  of  the  present 
parties. 

The  reason  for  this  stipulation  is  obvious. 
With  native  astuteness,  quickened  into  morbid 
4  49 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

action  by  the  nearness  of  death  and  the  thought 
that  he  was  parting  with  the  larger  portion  of 
his  possessions,  the  moribund  Frenchman  took 
good  care  to  make  provision  for  his  offspring. 
Doubtless  he  judged  that  expediency  should 
have  no  quarrel  with  justice,  but  that  the  twain 
should  go  side  by  side  and  hand  in  hand. 

The  dying  man,  having  thus  fulfilled  his 
pious  duty,  was  now  at  peace.  The  sunset  of 
his  life  was  very  calm,  and  unobscured  by  a 
single  cloud.  The  end  came  on  apace,  and  in 
a  little  time,  from  out  the  haunting  shadows 
among  which  he  had  moved  so  long,  he  was 
gathered  unto  those  fathers  the  burden  of 
whose  sins  had  well-nigh  crushed  his  life. 

Having  come  into  possession  of  unexpected 
wealth,  Basil  Forsyth  became  prodigal  in  the 
extreme;  not  seldom  is  it  thus  with  the  chil- 
dren of  pride  who  suddenly  find  themselves  in 
the  midst  of  unlooked-for  riches. 

Generous  to  a  fault,  and  with  a  disposition 
naturally  inclined  to  indolence,  Basil  Forsyth's 
fortune  slipped  from  him  as  easily  as  it  had 
50 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

come.  He  was  also  surrounded  by  those  para- 
sites which  wait  upon  affluence,  an  easy  temper- 
ament, and  abundant  good  cheer.  These,  to- 
gether with  the  indulgence  of  an  expensive 
taste  and  an  inordinate  desire  for  luxury,  com- 
bined to  dissipate  his  substance.  He  razed  the 
time- honored  mansion  that  his  worthy  ancestor 
had  built  when  the  island  to  Frenchmen. and  to 
Englishmen  alike  was  new,  and  erected  an  im- 
posing modern  dwelling  on  the  same  site. 
Here  he  ran  riot  with  his  fortune. 

All  things  come  to  a  term  in  this  mutable 
world,  and  in  due  season  Basil  Forsyth  learned 
that  there  was  a  not  impossible  end  to  his 
riches.  Coincidently  with  the  depletion  of  his 
coffers,  his  son  Guy  came  to  maturity.  Hester 
Lesage,  the  lovely  daughter  of  the  departed 
hypochondriac,  was  likewise  come  to  woman- 
hood. Her  brother  Henry,  a  few  years  her 
senior,  had  already  entered  the  conjugal  state 
and  was  the  father  of  a  blooming  little  girl 
who  bore  the  name  of  Margaret. 

In  compliance  with  the  desire  expressed  in 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  last  will  and  testament  of  her  deceased 
father,  Hester  Lesage  and  Guy  Forsyth  were 
betrothed.  But  with  the  accustomed  paradox 
of  fate,  even  while  the  bridal  robes  were  fash- 
ioning, death  came  as  the  actual  bridegroom, 
and  her  marriage  song  was  the  funeral  dirge. 
A  few  years  later  Guy  Forsyth,  through  ir- 
regular habits  and  reckless  exposure  of  his 
health,  followed  his  first  love  into  the  grave, 
leaving  a  young  wife  and  a  little  son  Jasper 
to  lament  his  loss  and  the  sadly  dilapidated  con- 
dition of  his  pecuniary  affairs. 

As  field  after  field  of  the  Forsyth  estate  was 
disposed  of  for  its  mortgage,  Henry  Lesage, 
who  had  long  abided  this  opportunity  to  add 
to  his  slender  possessions,  bid  them  all  in,  nor 
could  Guy  Forsyth,  upon  seeing  better  days, 
persuade  Lesage  to  relinquish  one  of  them  in 
his  favor. 

Notwithstanding  his  retrenchment  of  ex- 
penses and  the  frugality  which  marked  the 
latter  years  of  his  life,  at  his  death  Guy  For- 
syth left  but  a  few  scores  of  acres  as  the  full 
52 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

extent  of  his  patrimony,  with  barely  enough 
of  available  cash  to  place  his  widow  and  only 
son  beyond  the  verge  of  want. 

Such  is  the  tradition  of  the  island  of  St. 
Eustace.  Vague,  time-worn,  well-nigh  im- 
probable, gathering  to  itself  new  incidents  and 
new  interest  year  by  year,  it  has  outlived  many 
a  tongue  that  has  repeated  it,  to  inspire  the 
pen  of  the  present  writer  to  give  it  form  and 
coherence. 


53 


CHAPTER  IV 

ixosr 


"I  saw  her  upon  nearer  view, 
A  spirit,  yet  a  woman  tool 
Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 
And  steps  of  virgin  liberty: 
A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 
Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet; 
A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food; 
For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 
Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles." 

—WORDSWORTH. 


EARS  have  passed  since  the  inci- 
dents occurred  which  were  recorded 
in  our  opening  chapter.  The  faith- 
ful little  fellow  who  watched  so 
disconsolately  at  the  sick  girl's 
door  has  climbed  to  the  stature  of 


a  man. 

And  the  girl — a  woman  now — moves 
through  the  orbit  of  a  woman's  life,  shedding 
about  her  joy  and  light,  and  blessing  and  ani- 
mating everything  upon  which  falls  the  sun- 
shine of  her  love.  There  is  sweetness  in  her 
countenance,  and  warmth  in  her  smile,  wherein 
it  is  a  boon  to  bask  for  even  one  fortunate  hour. 
Vivacious,  light-hearted,  affectionate — in  her 
being  she  closes  the  mystery  of  both  the  woman 
and  the  child. 

Who  among  the  race  of  men  shall  attempt 
to  depict  the  unfolding  of  such  a  miracle? 
Were  similitudes  of  avail,  it  might  be  likened 
57 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

to  a  single  star,  seen  dimly  through  a  twilight 
haze,  till,  parting  the  curtain  of  darkness,  it 
bursts  into  a  blaze  of  light ;  or  to  a  flower  in  the 
bud  that  suddenly  swells  into  loveliness  and 
fragrance  even  while  our  eyes  are  turned 
upon  it. 

Such  a  mystery  is  Margaret  Lesage ;  sweet 
and  simple  as  a  wild  rose;  a  marvel  of  purity 
and  grace;  a  being  too  fair  to  perish,  yet  too 
fragile  to  survive  the  frost  and  gloom  of  earth. 

To  the  masculine  mind  the  feminine  char- 
acter is  at  all  times  a  mystery.  It  refuses  to 
be  fathomed.  Place  a  woman  among  the  sor- 
rows of  life;  place  her  where  are  needed  un- 
wearying patience,  long-suffering,  and  meek 
endurance;  beside  the  sick-bed;  amid  the  hor- 
rors of  a  plague,  where  she  moves  like  a  strong 
angel  disputing  inch  by  inch  the  dominion  of 
death ;  place  her  among  the  mournfulest  and 
most  tragic  scenes  of  life,  most  tragic  because 
often  the  humblest,  where  the  courage  of  love 
is  tried  to  the  uttermost  as  the  wolf  snarls  at 
the  door — place  her  in  these  conditions,  and 
58 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

then  may  be  realized  in  some  measure  the 
heavenly  qualities  of  her  nature. 

Into  so  splendid  a  heritage  has  entered 
Margaret  Lesage.  Yet  in  her  fresh  young 
womanhood,  as  in  her  childhood,  traits  are 
apparent  which  set  her  apart  from  other 
women.  Having  been  early  bereft  of  a 
mother's  loving  watchcare,  she  has  come  up  as 
a  flower,  as  one  of  nature's  own  beauteous 
wildings.  There  is  about  her  something 
anomalous;  something  that  defies  analysis; 
that  may  be  instantly  felt,  but  can  not  be  ac- 
curately defined. 

All  her  life  she  has  breathed  the  sweet  air 
that  has  wandered  over  leagues  of  woodland 
and  meadow,  freighted  with  the  wild  pure 
odors  of  nature's  own  distilling.  She  has  been 
made  thoughtful  by  bird  and  bee,  by  flower 
and  herb,  by  simple-hearted  men  and  women, 
unspoiled  by  the  petty  and  absorbing  selfish- 
ness which  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  mean  ar- 
tifices and  conventions  of  the  modern  world. 

Her  personal  charms  are  also  peculiar  and 
59 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

instantly  striking.  Not  over-ripe  as  to  the 
redness  of  her  lips,  yet  these  latter  are  dainty 
and  delicate  in  their  chiseling.  The  mobility 
of  her  mouth  is  an  index  of  her  character, 
portraying  in  that  which  would  elude  the  touch 
of  an  artist  the  emotions  of  her  soul.  In  the 
depths  of  her  eyes  there  is  the  same  strange, 
shifting  color  which  they  possessed  in  child- 
hood, impressing  the  beholder  that  in  each  iris 
have  been  caught  and  prisoned  the  lights  and 
shadows  that  play  upon  the  bosom  of  the  great 
river  which  she  loves.  As  morning  dew  she  is 
sweet  and  fresh,  and  that  she  is  a  daughter 
of  music  her  voice  declares. 

Let  it  not  be  thought,  however,  that  she  is 
faultless.  Even  her  personal  beauty  is  not 
without  its  saving  flaw.  For  upon  her  face  the 
freckles  of  her  childhood  are  still  scattered  here 
and  there,  though  well-nigh  drowned  in  a 
damask  sea  upon  her  cheeks,  and  she  is,  per- 
haps, a  thought  too  tall;  yet  in  every  propor- 
tion of  her  finely-rounded  figure  she  is  pure 


60 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

womanly,  lacking  neither  the  grace  nor  the 
symmetry  of  motion. 

Yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  Margaret 
Lesage  has  one  frailty  greatly  human ;  not 
that  she  is  more  than  a  sweet  mortal  woman, 
but  that  against  the  bright  background  of 
abundant  beauty  a  defect  like  hers  becomes 
painfully  marked.  She  seems  to  have  reached 
womanhood  possessed  of  a  will  strangely  at 
variance  with  itself ;  or,  rather,  so  strongly  in- 
fluenced by  daily  circumstances  as  to  be  thrown 
into  constant  confusion.  The  dancing  shad- 
ows, the  flitting  butterfly,  the  fitful  wind — these 
are  the  symbols  of  such  a  nature. 

Somehow  with  Margaret  the  rich  promise 
of  the  girl  seems  to  have  failed  of  fulfillment 
in  the  woman.  For  glancing  back  to  that 
eventful  day  when  she  sat  in  the  painted  skiff, 
nearer  to  death  than  ever  before  or  since,  and 
contrasting  the  present  affluent  woman  with 
the  dear  prophecy  of  the  child,  we  feel  a  name- 
less but  emphatic  discrepancy. 


61 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

But  Margaret  has  other  qualities  that,  per- 
haps, atone  for  this  one  notable  defect  in  her 
character;  such  qualities  as  gentleness,  woman- 
liness, a  courageous  spirit  of  endurance  in  times 
of  trial — though  as  yet  but  few  of  these  has 
she  known — and  a  heart  susceptible  of  pure 
affection. 

Such  individuality  of  character  as  Margaret 
possesses  is  paradoxical.  She  is  capable  of 
inflicting  a  sore  wound  upon  a  lover's  heart, 
yet  she  can  not  bear  to  see  a  beetle  crushed. 
She  is  very  tender  and  joyous  by  nature,  and 
can  not  brook  the  contemplation  of  death  in 
any  form.  Doubtless  she  is  morbidly  sensitive 
in  this  respect;  she  will  rescue  a  drowning  fly 
from  the  water,  and  take  a  wide  circuit  to  avoid 
treading  a  worm  under  her  foot. 

Her  previous  life  and  education  have  gone 
far  to  the  shaping  of  her  character.  The  sole 
offspring  of  a  wealthy  but  indifferent  parent, 
reared  without  a  mother's  fostering  care,  yet 
not  knowing  that  necessity  of  self-dependence 


62 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

which  is  the  basis  of  firmness  and  stability, 
she  has  come  up  like  a  lily,  receiving  and 
assimilating  all  the  beauty  about  her  as  the 
flower  drinks  light  and  dew,  but  with  no 
sufficient  purpose  in  life  to  maintain  the 
equipoise  of  her  nature. 

Margaret  was  not  wanting  in  the  frugal 
thrift  that  marked  the  maidenhood  of  her  day. 
Her  hands  were  not  strangers  to  the  distaff 
and  the  spinning-wheel. 

"Dearie,"  her  old  nurse  would  say  to  her, 
"have  you  finished  your  task  for  to-day?" 

To  the  gray-haired,  kind-eyed  woman  who 
had  watched  over  the  motherless  child  for  so 
many  years,  Margaret  was  still  a  little  girl, 
and  as  dear  as  an  own  daughter  could  have 
been. 

"My  sweetheart  mustn't  forget  that  to  be 
industrious  is  an  important  part  of  every 
young  lady's  education,"  the  gentle  old  voice 
would  continue. 

"I    have    finished    my    stint    for    to-day, 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

auntie,"  Margaret  would  reply  as  her  nimble 
fingers  twinkled  over  the  ivory  keys  of  her 
ancient  harpsichord. 

Doubtless  because  Margaret's  father  was 
generally  so  self-absorbed,  and  though  really 
fond  of  his  sunny-faced  little  daughter  seemed 
always  stern  and  cold,  a  hunger  had  grown 
up  in  the  child's  heart  which  the  love  of  the 
old  nurse  did  not  wholly  satisfy. 

And  now,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  Margaret 
has  arrived  at  womanhood,  with  only  one  ex- 
perience beyond  the  routine  of  her  ordinary 
life,  and  even  that  experience  has  become  to 
her  almost  a  consequence  of  existence. 

Jasper  Forsyth  had  been  the  only  boy  play- 
mate that  Margaret  had  known  from  her  early 
childhood  to  within  the  last  few  years  of  her 
life.  Indeed  he  mingled  with  her  earliest  mem- 
ories as  the  one  companion  to  whom  she  had 
confided  her  childish  hopes  and  fears,  and  of 
whose  ready  sympathy  she  was  always  sure. 
His  father  having  been  at  one  time  considered 


64 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

well-to-do,  though  not  to  such  an  extent  as 
Margaret's  father,  who  boasted  his  long  de- 
scent, his  bank  stock,  his  mortgages,  and  the 
honor  of  his  family — which  latter,  if  the  whole 
of  the  legend  be  true  which  has  been  related  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  was  rather  imaginary 
than  otherwise — and  the  Forsyth  estate  lying 
contiguous  to  the  Lesage  estate,  Jasper  and  Mar- 
garet had  been  almost  constantly  as  children 
in  each  other's  society.  They  played  together, 
rowed  together  on  the  river,  went  to  school 
together  hand  in  hand,  studied  the  same  les- 
sons, recited  from  the  same  books;  until,  at 
length,  it  seemed  that  the  existence  of  the  one 
could  scarcely  continue  independent  of  the 
other. 

Thus  a  human  being  will  tread  his  narrow 
round  year  after  year,  without  a  shadow  of 
variation,  until  it  seems  that  custom  has  be- 
come petrified  into  an  unalterable  condition. 
But  suddenly  a  crisis  arrives.  Another  chap- 
ter in  the  story  of  life  is  reached.  The  usages 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

of  many  years  are  annulled  at  a  single  stroke, 
and  new  surroundings  with  new  experiences 
succeed. 

The  season  drew  near  when  it  was  neces- 
sary that  Jasper  should  attend  college  to  con- 
tinue his  education  which  had  begun  under 
very  auspicious  circumstances.  Naturally  pos- 
sessed of  an  alert  intellect  and  a  retentive 
memory,  and  with  a  heart  filled  to  overflowing 
with  a  love  of  the  beautiful,  his  inclinations 
were  to  aesthetic  culture  and  the  study  of  the 
fine  arts. 

Probably  the  mental  aliment  on  which  he 
had  been  nurtured  from  his  early  youth,  ali- 
ment gathered  from  river,  field,  and  sky,  had 
served  to  nourish  within  him  an  inherited  pas- 
sion for  the  beautiful ;  and  with  its  growth 
had  arisen  a  desire,  which  had  quickly  mounted 
into  an  all-absorbing  ambition,  to  give  that 
passion  an  outward  expression. 

A  snowflake  set  him  dreaming.  The  velvet 
curve  of  a  roseleaf  gave  him  food  for  thought. 
Sometimes  he  was  well-nigh  beside  himself 
66 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

with  joy  as  he  marked  the  hues  of  orange, 
amethyst,  violet,  and  emerald,  where  the  dawn 
kindled  above  the  shadowy  hills,  or  the  torches 
of  evening  flared  along  the  turquoise  sky. 

The  young  man  was  already  possessed  of 
no  mean  skill  in  both  painting  and  sculpture. 
Still,  it  can  not  be  truthfully  said  that  his 
performances  in  this  kind  were  extraordinary; 
but  his  friends  fondly  persuaded  themselves 
that  his  was  a  talent  which  only  required  de- 
velopment to  command  the  attention  of  the 
world.  So  now,  after  having  secured  a  liberal 
education,  it  was  Jasper's  purpose  to  improve 
himself  in  both  these  departments  of  art. 

The  fashion  of  the  world  changeth.  But 
amid  external  mutations  the  heart  preserves 
its  fidelity  to  the  things  long  familiar  and  fer- 
vently beloved.  There  are  those  whose  affec- 
tion goes  forth  to  one  or  two  dear  objects  and 
no  more;  but  that  affection  is  all  the  deeper, 
all  the  stronger,  all  the  more  enduring,  be- 
cause in  its  great  outflowing  it  is  undivided. 

Jasper  was  one  of  these.  Through  all  his 
67 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

college  life,  there  had  been  before  him  a  single 
bright  image — the  image  of  Margaret.  Her 
face,  her  voice,  her  words  were  stamped  upon 
his  memory;  they  became  his  inspiration,  his 
daily  comfort,  his  sufficient  hope. 

He  had  said  in  his  heart: 

"If  ever  I  win  praise,  it  shall  be  for  Mar- 
garet's sake.  If  Margaret  herself  shall  ever 
praise  my  work,  it  will  be  the  one  priceless 
recompense  worth  years  of  toil  and  exile  to 
obtain." 

In  all  their  good  fellowship  and  camarad- 
erie, Jasper  had  not  as  yet  uttered  to  Margaret 
any  word  of  love.  He  had  taken  it  for  granted 
that  his  thoughts  were  understood.  His  was 
one  of  those  shy,  sensitive  natures  that  seek 
to  make  their  deep  affection  felt  rather  than 
attempt  to  express  it  in  words.  His  love  was 
not  a  thing  which  sought  to  clothe  itself  with 
language ;  it  found  its  satisfaction  only  in  loyal 
and  unremitting  service. 

Regularly  during  his  absence  at  college  a 
correspondence  had  been  maintained  between 
68 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

himself  and  Margaret,  and  it  was  undoubtedly 
the  cherished  belief  of  each  that  the  destiny 
of  the  one  was  indissolubly  linked  to  that  of 
the  other. 

At  length,  pausing  for  a  moment  at  the 
portal  of  a  new  life,  buoyant  with  youth  and 
eager  with  expectation,  we  find  him  about  to 
set  out  for  Rome,  that  Mecca  of  artistic  en- 
thusiasts, in  order  to  realize  what  seemed  to 
him  the  fairest  and  sweetest  dream  of  life. 


69 


CHAPTER  V 


"  Love  is  merely  a  madness ;  and,  1  tell  you, 
deserves  as  well  a  dark  house  and  whip,  as 
madmen  do :  and  the  reason  why  they  are  not 
so  punished  and  cured  is,  that  the  lunacy  is  so 
ordinary,  that  the  whippers  are  in  love  too." 

—As  You  LIKE  IT. 


HERE  are  moments  in  every  human 
life  when  the  aspect  of  nature, 
whether  it  be  gloomy  or  gay,  seems 
to  be  in  perfect  accord  with  the 
various  moods  of  the  soul.  The 
full  heart,  though  bursting  with 
anguish  or  bounding  with  joy,  feels  that  it 
has  something  in  common  with  the  great 
mother-heart  of  nature,  and  an  answering  cry 
comes  back  to  the  wailing  of  a  wounded  spirit, 
or  the  deep  pulse  of  the  world  throbs  in  ecstasy 
with  our  own  delight. 

It  was  beneath  the  "vitreous  pour"  of  the 
full  moon,  and  in  the  wide  calm  of  a  Northern 
summer  night,  that  Jasper  and  Margaret  sat 
in  a  leafy  nook  opening  upon  the  river,  the 
waters  of  which  lay  silvern  and  smiling  under 
a  cloudless  sky.  Through  the  interlacing 
boughs  the  moonbeams  sifted  down,  making 
a  pale  tessellation  of  shadows  upon  the  turf 
73 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

below.  The  ripples  upon  the  broad  bosom  of 
the  stream  were  tipped  with  light,  and  shivered 
themselves  into  myriads  of  flashing  gems  as 
they  washed  against  the  smooth-worn  pebbles 
upon  the  beach. 

On  this  night,  as  never  before,  were  those 
two  watchers  by  the  riverside  impressed  with 
the  loveliness  and  mysterious  sympathy  of 
nature.  It  was  the  evening  preceding  Jas- 
per's departure  from  his  native  shores.  A 
gentle  melancholy  pervaded  the  scene,  befit- 
ting well  the  tender  sorrow  that  lay  like  a 
burden  on  their  souls. 

The  lisping  of  the  waters  and  the  calling  of 
the  hylas  were  mingled  in  a  single  thread  of 
sound.  Katydids  rasped  the  silence,  and  far 
away  a  whip-poor-will  threshed  the  shadows 
with  his  incessant  iterations. 

A  few  leaves  trembled  together  on  a  near-by 
bough,  as  though  some  capricious  zephyr  had 
kissed  them  as  he  fled.  Dew  was  falling  upon 
thirsty  slopes,  and  evening  primroses,  like  pale 
stars,  glimmered  through  the  dusk. 
74 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

In  moist,  warm  nooks  braids  of  dancing 
insects  blew  elfin  horns ;  there,  amid  last  year's 
rotting  leaves,  the  pallid  Indian  pipe  gleamed 
ghostly  white.  At  the  oozy  bases  of  granite 
ledges  Oswego  tea  and  wild  columbine  stood 
with  vivid  colors  dulled  in  the  pallor  of  the 
night. 

Fireflies  struck  wizard  sparks  in  unexpected 
places,  while  now  and  again,  as  the  eye  swept 
its  bright  surface,  the  shining  mirror  of  the 
river  was  shattered  as  a  fish  leaped  into  the 
air,  descending  again  in  a  silver  crescent  and 
scattering  seed-pearls  around  him. 

As  yet  no  word  of  love  had  fallen  from 
Jasper's  lips.  But  a  moment  of  destiny  was 
at  hand.  In  the  heart  of  both  there  was  that 
which  clamored  for  utterance.  Each  longed 
to  speak,  to  say  something  that  might  lead 
to  the  subject  uppermost  in  their  thoughts, 
but  neither  dared  to  break  the  silence  that 
seemed  to  have  laid  upon  them  an  almost  fatal 
spell.  The  habit  of  silent  affection,  which  had 
grown  upon  them  for  years,  was  too  strong  to 
75 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

yield  to  any  sudden  impulse  of  disclosure.  Yet 
within  them  certain  elements  were  gathering 
force  and  uniting  to  form  an  imperative 
resolution. 

At  length,  unable  longer  to  bear  the  still- 
ness and  suspense,  a  scarce-audible  sigh  flut- 
tered up  from  Margaret's  heart,  stirring  her 
bosom  as  a  dreaming  bird  might  ruffle  its 
small  breast  to  send  forth  a  single  plaintive 
note.  But  Jasper  heard  the  sigh;  it  was 
enough;  it  dispelled  the  sorcery  of  the  hour, 
and  he  at  last  found  words  in  which  to  speak 
his  desire. 

"Margaret,"  he  said,  "do  you  remember 
when,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  slope  I  rescued 
you  half-drowned  from  the  river?  Do  you 
recall  my  boyish  anxiety,  as  you  lay  betwixt 
life  and  death,  and  the  deep  misery  of  my 
heart,  torn  with  the  fear  that  the  cruel  waters 
had  robbed  me  of  my  little  friend  ?  That  was 
the  beginning,  Margaret;  and  though  too 
young  to  understand  it  then,  steadily  it  has 


76 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

grown  upon  me.  I  know  it  now.  As  your 
image  is  stamped  upon  the  past,  and  as  the 
past  is  linked  to  the  present,  so  I  have  no  hope 
for  future  days  that  is  not  connected  with  the 
thought  of  you.  I  have  wished  long  to  say 
this ;  yet  even  now  I  can  not  speak  as  I  would. 
My  little  playmate  of  long  ago,  are  we  going 
to  loose  hands  at  length  ?  Tell  me  if  you  share 
the  feelings  that  prompt  me  to  this  avowal? 
Dear  heart,  something  assures  me  that  you 
care  for  me!  Speak!  is  it  not  so?" 

His  words  fell  rapidly,  and  his  voice 
trembled  with  emotion. 

"Jasper,"  replied  Margaret,  paler  than  the 
moonlight  in  which  she  sat,  "why  should  I 
smother  the  longings  of  my  heart  ?  I  could  not 
now  if  I  tried.  I  am  not  ashamed  of  them. 
I  will  not  affect  a  coyness  that  I  do  not  feel. 
Our  lives  have  run  together  too  closely  not 
to  understand  each  other.  Do  not  think  I 
speak  coldly.  I  owe  you  so  much.  God  for- 
bid that  I  should  be  false  to  myself,  and  false 


77 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

to  all  that  is  good  and  true,  in  flippantly  hiding 
away  from  its  chosen  object  the  sweetest  desire 
of  a  woman's  heart." 

"Ay,  God  forbid !"  said  Jasper  fervently. 

"You  have  touched  in  my  heart,"  con- 
tinued Margaret,  "a  chord  that  makes  the 
music  of  my  life.  This  is  not  an  hour  for 
dalliance  with  the  purest  gift  a  human  being 
may  bestow;  and  though,  perhaps,  a  diffidence 
I  could  never  understand  should  hush  the  word 
at  this  moment,  still  I  must  say  that  I  love  you 
wholly,  love  you  as  I  can  never  love  another 
being  upon  earth.  But  O,  my  friend,  I  am 
afraid  to  yield!  I  tremble  to  drop  down  into 
so  great  an  abyss  of  surrender.  We  have  so 
long  kept  silence,  that  I  could  stay  my  foot- 
steps forever  on  this  sweet  verge  of  expecta- 
tion." 

"Nay,  say  not  so,  dearest,"  returned  Jas- 
per, "the  fledgling  must  sometime  try  its  wings, 
and  love  that  has  learned  to  speak  must  utter 
its  tender  word,  though  the  eye  be  dim  with 
watching  and  the  head  white  with  years.  But, 
78 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

Margaret,  I  want  your  promise ;  I  want  to  take 
your  dear  hand,  and  hear  you  say  that  it  shall 
be  always  mine;  and  that,  come  life  or  death, 
come  weal  or  woe,  your  love  shall  be  my  own, 
undivided  forever." 

He  held  out  his  hand  toward  her ;  she  lifted 
her  own,  doubtfully  for  a  moment,  and  then 
slipped  it  trustfully  into  his.  She  nestled 
against  his  shoulder.  Their  eyes  met  and  re- 
flected that  magic  light  which  dawns  but  once 
this  side  of  heaven,  and  then — but  let  us  turn 
away,  for  we  have  no  right  to  be  curious 
spectators  in  their  new  Eden  of  young 
love. 

And  while  they  whisper  to  one  another 
foolish  words  beneath  the  happy  stars,  and 
while  for  them  the  earth  begins  to  wear  a 
brightness  that  it  never  knew  before,  permit 
us  to  implore  our  matter-of-fact  readers  not 
to  be  too  hard  upon  the  young  things.  Let 
not  overmuch  scorn  be  visited  upon  their  un- 
knowing heads,  nor  upon  the  head  of  their 
faithful  historian.  Let  it  be  remembered  that 
79 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

out  of  their  lives  had  not  yet  vanished  the 
dew  of  youth,  and  that  they  were  still  devoid 
of  that  experience  which  banishes  soft-eyed 
sentiment  and  begets  disillusionment  with  the 
world  and  with  each  other.  So  bear  with 
them  in  their  lyric  hour. 

But  now  after  the  first  transports  of  their 
new-found  joy  are  past,  we  may  return  to 
them  once  more.  Yet  let  us  be  considerate 
listeners  to  their  words,  not  forgetting  the 
time  when  life  with  us,  too,  was  in  its  spring 
and  love  not  a  memory,  but  a  sweet  reality, 
long  before  the  green  mantle  of  the  sod  had 
hidden  from  our  sight  the  beloved  face. 

"My  Margaret,"  said  Jasper,  clasping  her 
warm  hand,  "if  the  dwellers  in  the  unseen 
world  be  mindful  of  this  world's  losses  and 
gains,  will  the  present  moment,  think  you,  fail 
to  afford  satisfaction  to  those  old  ancestors  of 
ours  ?  See  how  the  heart  of  the  heavens  throbs 
and  glows.  Yet  it  does  not  seem  that  the 
gladness  of  yonder  stars  when  they  first  sang 
together  could  equal  our  delight.  And  I  am 
80 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

sure  that  the  pearls  of  Egypt's  ancient  queen 
never  sat  with  such  mild  luster  on  her  dark 
brow  as  the  beauty  of  this  soft  moonlight  on 
your  dear  face." 

"But  Jasper,  remember  that  you  see  me  now 
in  the  transforming  light  of  this  sweet  hour. 
When  the  years  of  youth  are  past  and  time  shall 
have  plowed  ugly  wrinkles " 

"Hush!  dearest,  you  will  always  be  fair 
to  me.  Do  not  speak  of  faded  cheeks  and  time- 
blurred  eyes.  Away  with  such  thoughts !  Let 
us  think  of  bright  and  happy  things.  One 
moment  of  such  rapture  as  this  could  atone 
for  years  of  waiting  and  even  misery.  To- 
morrow I  leave  for  Italy.  I  could  almost  wish 
that  the  vessel  were  not  to  sail  so  soon.  Yet 
this  early  parting  has  urged  us  to  speak  words 
that  might  not  have  been  spoken  otherwise; 
and  the  coming  separation  gives  keener  edge 
to  our  present  joy.  Alas!  the  pleasure,  the 
pain,  that  the  heart  can  endure!" 

"O  Jasper,  it  is  too  soon!  You  go  too 
soon!"  exclaimed  Margaret,  as  she  suddenly 
6  81 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

realized  how  brief  was  the  duration  of  her 
new  happiness,  and  what  a  long  period  of 
waiting  lay  beyond  that  fleeting  interval ;  "can 
you  not  delay  your  departure  a  week — a 
single  day?" 

"I  can  not,  Margaret.  All  the  necessary 
preparations  have  been  made,  and  my  passage 
is  already  engaged.  To-morrow  morning  at 
eight  o'clock  I  hasten  to  Quebec,  whence  I 
shall  sail  the  following  morning  for  Italy. 
Yet,  my  bride-to-be,  in  the  midst  of  this  great 
joy  I  could  tarry  all  my  life.  But  something 
urges  me  onward.  I  wish  to  be  a  motive  in 
the  world.  Future  years  shall  certainly  know 
that  I  have  lived.  Pray,  do  not  weep.  I  shall 
return  the  sooner  because  of  my  early  depar- 
ture— return  to  claim  my  wife.  My  purpose 
achieved — and  now  that  I  have  something  defi- 
nite to  work  for,  I  can  labor  with  the  greater 
zeal — with  merited  honor,  and  I  hope  with  a 
measure  of  wealth.  I  shall  come  back  to  lay 
all  my  gains  at  your  feet." 

"Forgive  me,  Jasper,"  answered  Margaret 
82 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

through  her  sobs,  "forgive  these  foolish  tears, 
but  the  parting  seems  cruelly  long.  It  is  self- 
ish, I  know,  to  wish  to  keep  you  here.  Yet 
I  fear  your  art  may  claim  a  larger  place  in  your 
affections  than  the  maiden  whom  you  may  half 
forget." 

"Dear  girl,  can  you  doubt  me  thus?"  cried 
Jasper.  "By  my  art  I  shall  prove  how  much 
you  are  to  me.  For  your  sake  I  shall  strive 
to  win  praise.  I  would  be  strong  and  true, 
that  I  may  be  worthy  of  your  affection  as  well 
as  of  men's  applause.  Help  me,  Margaret,  to 
be  a  man.  I  almost  fail  in  my  resolve,  in  spite 
of  my  brave  words.  But  you  would  not  have 
me  mope  the  years  away  in  this  narrow  island, 
nor  go  creeping  through  life  like  a  slug,  while 
the  pulse  of  the  world  beats  faster  and  faster 
in  great  pursuits.  I  must  enter  into  the  spirit 
of  the  times.  I  must  do  or  perish.  There  is 
a  place  for  me  somewhere  in  the  world,  and  I 
must  find  it.  It  would  be  hateful  to  me  to  live, 
Margaret,  possessing  your  sacred  promise  and 
knowing  I  had  done  nothing  to  deserve  it." 
83 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

There  followed  a  moment's  pause,  but 
Margaret  was  silent,  her  white  lips  quivering, 
and  her  eyes  looking  out  across  the  wan 
stretches  of  the  river  with  a  far-away  expres- 
sion as  if  gazing  into  the  future. 

O  fiery  heart  of  youth!  how  late  in  life 
we  learn  to  go  slowly!  There  is  fever  in  the 
brain,  and  fire  is  in  the  blood,  until  the  fever 
has  died  in  repeated  disappointments  and  the 
fire  has  been  quenched  with  bitter  tears.  In 
the  stern  school  of  experience  one  thing  is 
surely  taught,  one  thing  which  the  sad  old 
prophet  learned  centuries  ago — how  to  go 
slowly  all  one's  days. 

"Margaret,"  again  spoke  Jasper  in  a 
troubled  tone,  "will  you  not  give  me  one  little 
word  of  encouragement?" 

"Yes,  Jasper,"  at  length  rejoined  Mar- 
garet, though  her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke, 
"such  as  I  can  I  will  give.  I  honor  your 
ambition.  I  applaud  your  purpose,  yet  it  seems 
so  long !"  and  thick  tears  choked  her  utterance. 

"Never  mind,  Margaret/'  responded  Jas- 
84 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

per,  struggling  with  his  own  heart,  which  mis- 
gave him,  "never  mind,  our  next  meeting  will 
be  all  the  sweeter  for  this  prolonged  separation. 
The  moment  has  come  when  we  must  part. 
Before  I  go,  I  entreat  you  to  accept  this  small 
gift — this  little  band  of  gold — as  the  symbol 
of  our  united  lives.  It  is  the  ring  my  father 
placed  upon  the  ringer  of  the  dead  Hester, 
long  ago.  My  faith  in  you  is  perfect;  I  think 
that  death  alone  could  part  us  now." 

"I  will  never  betray  your  trust,"  whispered 
Margaret.  "Years  since  our  destinies  were 
joined  together  by  those  old  men  who  are  dust 
in  their  graves.  Our  lives  can  never  be  dis- 
entwined." 

They  rose  bewildered  and  unseeing,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  with  clinging  hands ;  their 
lips  were  crushed  together  in  one  long  swoon 
of  agony  and  bliss;  then,  as  with  anguished 
voice  he  uttered  the  single  word  "Farewell!" 
Jasper  turned  and  plunged  into  the  shadows. 

In  every  leave-taking  there  is  some  element 
of  eternity.  The  moon  had  slowly  sunk  behind 
85 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  darkling  pines.  Only  the  steadfast  stars, 
the  unspeaking  rocks  and  trees,  and  the  ever- 
flowing  river,  had  heard  the  plighted  vows. 

The  sward  was  matted  and  a  few  flowers 
crushed  where  the  lovers  had  lingered.  In 
the  distance  a  solitary  owl  sent  its  weird  chal- 
lenge into  the  listening  ear  of  night.  No  other 
sound  was  audible,  save  the  soughing  of  the 
wind  through  the  tree-tops,  and  the  lapping  of 
the  little  waves  upon  the  beach. 

So  Jasper  Forsyth  passed  away  from  his 
boyhood's  home:  so  early  expectations  pass  in 
the  fading  brightness  of  our  youth.  Yet,  over 
the  pain  of  parting,  over  the  sorrow  of  that 
long  separation,  Jasper's  heart  rose  up  and  was 
happy.  His  hopes  were  buoyant,  and  his  active 
fancy  painted  a  future  brilliant  with  honor  and 
unstinted  love,  while  he  rested  his  faith  on  the 
just  conviction  that  no  endeavor  is  in  vain. 

It   was   in  the  long  bright   hours  of  an 

Italian  afternoon,  when  Jasper  caught  his  first 

glimpse  of  Rome — Rome,  the  immortal  city, 

haunted  by  a  thousand  colossal  shades,  some 

86 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

whom  an  envious  oblivion  has  robbed  of  even 
a  name — Rome,  the  proud,  the  eager,  the  ever- 
changeful,  the  never-destroyed.  As  her  towers 
and  palaces  rose  more  distinctly  into  view, 
his  ardent  imagination,  like  that  fabled  touch- 
stone of  old,  transmuted  them  into  pure  gold. 

"Who  can  tell,"  he  thought,  "what  I  may 
not  achieve  in  yonder  blessed  city?" 

In  that  glorious  spot  his  good  angel  had 
alighted,  and  with  folded  wings  was  waiting 
to  lead  him  up  the  gleaming  heights  of  a  toil- 
ful but  well-earned  success.  No  doubt  ob- 
scured his  vision  of  the"  future.  As  he  cast  the 
horoscope  of  his  destiny,  he  beheld  not  one 
ill-boding  star.  Down  the  clear  far-reaching 
track  of  the  years  before  him  he  saw  no  evil 
chances  like  lurking  banditti  waiting  to  de- 
spoil him  of  his  hopes. 

It  was  a  pleasant  sleep  which  our  weary 
Jasper  slept  that  night  beneath  the  mellow 
skies  and  in  the  soothing  dissonance  of  un- 
familiar sounds. 

Happy,  tired  Jasper!  the  same  serene  orbs 
87 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

that  had  looked  down  upon  his  far-off  island 
home,  and  had  gladdened  that  one  fair  night 
when  Margaret  had  plighted  to  him  her  troth, 
shone  upon  him  now  through  the  soft  Italian 
darkness.  Palpitating  like  sentient  things, 
those  dear  old  constellations  were  like  loved 
companions  who  kept  fresh  and  real  his  sweet 
past  life  in  the  midst  of  the  strange  new  sur- 
roundings which  seemed  so  unreal. 

Unvexed  by  the  prevalent  odor  of  garlic, 
Jasper's  dreams  were  mixed  with  the  perfume 
of  unknown  flowers,  while  faunlike  youths  hand 
in  hand  with  laughing  maidens  danced  past 
him  in  scant  array;  and  evermore  above  them 
all  floated  the  vision  of  a  face  he  loved,  wear- 
ing a  halo  as  bright  as  the  sun. 

Wonderful  alchemy  of  youth !  What  dross 
will  it  not  refine  into  silver?  What  evil  will 
it  not  transmute  into  good?  Great  Shepherd 
of  the  sheep,  still  temper  the  winds  unto  the 
shorn  lamb !  Sweet  Fountain  of  all  Pity,  flow 
unto  him  upon  whose  tenderest  hopes  falls  a 
withering  blight  at  their  very  bourgeoning! 
88 


CHAPTER  VI 

2>l)attr rrti  Dream 


"Dreams  in  their  development  have  breath, 
And  tears,  and  tortures,  and  the  touch  of  joy. 
They  leave  a  weight  upon  our  waking  thoughts, 
.     .     .     They  do  divide  our  being." 


T  was  but  a  dream — let  it  pass — let  it  vanish 

like  so  many  others! 
What  I  thought  was  a  flower,  is  only  a  weed, 

and  is  worthless." 

— LONGFELLOW. 


ENRY  LESAGE  was  a  sordidly 
selfish  and  mercenary  person.  De- 
void of  genuine  manhood,  he  had  so 
long  neglected  his  few  native  vir- 
tues that  they  had  all  but  perished 
of  inanition.  Systematically  throt- 
tling his  conscience,  he  had  brought  it  in  such 
complete  subjection  that  it  was  seldom  known 
to  annoy  him.  There  were  evil  tales  abroad 
that  in  many  ways  he  had  oppressed  the  poor 
of  that  vicinity  to  obtain  the  splendid  compe- 
tency which  he  boasted. 

Still,  among  his  neighbors,  Henry  Lesage 
was  a  man  of  eminent  respectability.  Often, 
so  perverse  and  contradictory  is  human  judg- 
ment, that,  when  a  man  has  stifled  the  best 
emotions  of  his  heart,  and  has  become  little 
more  than  an  animate  machine,  only  then  does 
he  seem  to  challenge  the  last  degree  of  the 
confidence  and  good  will  of  the  world. 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

There  are  some  rare  spirits  who  appreciate 
the  ruffianly  and  the  bestial  alone;  there  are 
others  who  applaud  naught  save  wiliness  and 
guile,  and  the  oftener  they  are  deceived  the 
oftener  they  bepraise  the  very  craft  that  has 
undone  them.  Therefore,  in  the  eyes  of  men 
of  his  own  kidney,  Henry  Lesage  was  a  hero, 
and  in  this  fact  he  found  a  sufficient  justifica- 
tion of  his  methods  of  dealing  with  his  fellows. 

The  world  did  obeisance  to  him.  Was  he 
not  the  richest  man  in  all  that  countryside? 
Would  it  not  be  almost  certain  destruction  to 
incur  the  enmity  of  Henry  Lesage?  Hence, 
they  reasoned,  it  is  better  to  endure  what  can 
not  be  helped,  than  to  bring  down  a  speedy 
ruin  upon  one's  head  by  an  unwise  and  profit- 
less opposition  to  a  man  so  powerful,  cunning, 
and  relentless. 

Of  some,  we  say,  Henry  Lesage  won  the 
warm  approbation.  The  man  who  is  pleased 
with  such  applause  invariably  holds  in  scorn 
those  sensitive  souls  who  pursue  exalted  ideals ; 
he  denounces  them  as  dreamers,  as  nincom- 
92 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

poops,  as  weaklings  who  have  subverted  the 
true  object  of  existence. 

Such  a  man  likewise  regards  all  that  makes 
for  the  refinement  of  human  nature,  and  the 
elevation  of  intellect  and  morality,  as  puerile 
or  effeminate,  and  unworthy  the  attention  of 
a  master  mind.  For  men  of  this  stamp  pride 
themselves  on  their  strength  of  mind.  Noth- 
ing deserves  their  efforts  save  getting  and  hav- 
ing; all  else  is  vain  and  childish.  They  fail 
to  recognize  that  genuine  power  is  born  not 
of  things  earthy. 

While  men  like  Henry  Lesage  find  their 
ultimate  satisfaction  in  the  material  world, 
men  of  the  higher  type  seek  their  crowning  joys 
in  the  realm  of  the  spirit.  The  one  kind  creeps 
like  a  mole  through  the  dust  of  earth;  the 
other  kind  soars  like  an  eagle  in  the  eye  of 
the  sun. 

Thus  it  is  not  surprising  that  Henry  Lesage 

looked   coldly  upon   Jasper   Forsyth   and   his 

chosen  life  work;  in  fact,  an  old  contempt  for 

the  Forsyth  race  ran  in  his  blood.     Despite 

93 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  unfilled  covenant  of  marriage  that  united 
his  own  family  with  the  family  of  the  Forsyths, 
after  Jasper's  arrival  at  his  majority  Lesage 
had  steadily  discouraged  all  familiarity  be- 
tween the  young  enthusiast  and  his  daughter. 
He  was  not  the  man  to  be  betrayed  into  an 
alliance  involving  an  impecunious  son-in-law; 
no  small  fry  would  satisfy  his  ambition,  when 
there  were  larger  fish  to  be  netted. 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  habits  and  mem- 
ories of  former  years  were  dominant,  and  the 
fondness  of  early  friendship  had  ripened  into 
later  love. 

It  will  be  readily  conceived  with  what  bit- 
terness a  man  like  Henry  Lesage  would  per- 
ceive the  evidence  of  a  frustrated  design 
touching  him  so  closely  as  this;  his  first  step, 
therefore,  toward  retrieving  his  influence  with 
Margaret  was  to  forbid,  with  many  darkling 
menaces,  any  further  intercourse  with  Jasper. 
But  in  this  case  it  was  mutual  though  un- 
avowed  affection  pitted  against  heartless  craft ; 
love  was  triumphant,  and  the  lovers  met. 
94 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

Howbeit,  after  Jasper's  departure  for  Italy, 
Henry  Lesage  judged  that  he  had  much  less 
cause  for  anxiety  than  before;  and  by  watch- 
fulness on  his  own  part,  together  with  the  sub- 
ornation of  underlings,  all  communication  be- 
tween Jasper  and  Margaret  was  prevented.  So 
month  after  month  rolled  away,  and  the  poor 
maiden  received  no  word  from  her  absent  lover. 

Jasper,  on  the  other  hand,  having  written 
repeatedly,  began  to  chafe  at  Margaret's  de- 
lay in  responding  to  his  appeals  for  the  tidings 
which  he  craved.  Yet,  frequent  as  the  young 
man's  missives  were,  no  one  of  them  escaped 
the  father's  unwearying  vigilance. 

At  first  Margaret  was  filled  with  anxiety 
for  the  safety  of  her  lover ;  then  deeply  pained 
at  his  continued  silence  and  neglect;  then  in- 
dignant and  distrustful,  until  at  length  her  in- 
sulted womanhood  began  to  meditate  upon 
revenge. 

One  late  September  afternoon  when  under 
the  feeble  sunlight  the  river  flowed  chill  and 
gray,  Margaret,  who  had  waited  expectantly 
95 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

for  weeks  only  to  meet  disappointment  after 
disappointment  in  receiving  no  word  from 
Jasper,  seized  her  hat  and,  eluding  as  by  a 
miracle  the  eyes  that  spied  upon  her  move- 
ments, took  a  short  cut  through  the  fields  to 
the  little  vine-bowered  cottage  where  Jasper's 
mother  dwelt. 

Mrs.  Forsyth,  a  sedate,  motherly  woman  of 
gentle  voice  and  manners,  was  much  pleased 
at  receiving  a  visit  from  Margaret ;  for  latterly, 
since  Jasper  had  declared  his  love  and  she  had 
promised  to  be  his  wife,  with  that  strange 
reticence  born  of  the  tender  passion  in  women, 
Margaret  had  avoided  meeting  her  to  whose 
fond  arms  and  warm  nestling  cheek  she  had 
been  wont  to  flee  in  other  years  with  little  cries 
of  joy. 

But  Margaret  could  resist  no  longer;  she 
yearned  to  hear  the  mother  of  her  betrothed 
say  something,  if  it  were  but  one  little  word, 
of  the  absent  lover.  Yet,  a  morbid  sensitive- 
ness, the  result  of  long  waiting  and  repressed 
grieving,  withheld  her  from  asking  frankly 
96 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

what  her  heart  clamored  to  know.  And  the 
mother  did  not  once  mention  her  son's  name. 
For  Jasper,  having  heard  nothing  from  Mar- 
garet herself,  had  ceased  to  speak  of  her  in  his 
letters  to  his  mother;  and  Mrs.  Forsyth,  be- 
lieving that  the  lovers  had  come  to  some  mis- 
understanding, and  that  the  trouble  would  be 
the  sooner  healed  by  her  silence,  made  no  al- 
lusion to  her  distant  boy. 

Heavy  was  Margaret's  heart  as  with  lag- 
ging footsteps  she  turned  homeward  a  little 
later  amid  the  dewy  shadows  of  evening. 

The  old  familiar  sounds  of  her  rustic  world, 
sounds  that  she  had  loved  and  which  were 
sweeter  than  music  to  her  ears,  fell  unheeding 
upon  her.  A  white-throat's  vesper  notes,  and 
the  tentative  fluting  of  a  hermit  thrush, 
awakened  no  responsive  thrill  in  her  beaten 
and  weary  soul. 

"I  am  so  tired,"  she  murmured.  "Life  is 
too.  difficult.  Why  should  love  bring  with  it 
so  much  of  suffering?" 

And  then  with  that  sudden  hopelessness 
7  97 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

not  unusual  in  the  young,  she  cried  through 
thickening  tears, 

"O  I  wish  that  I  might  die!" 

Henry  Lesage  observed  his  daughter's 
approach  through  the  gathering  darkness,  and 
as  he  watched  her  hastening  across  the  fields 
from  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Forsyth's  cottage, 
he  divined  instantly  the  object  of  her  visit. 
Impatiently  he  awaited  her  arrival.  He  knew 
that  some  decided  and  probably  harsh  meas- 
ure must  be  taken  immediately.  And  when, 
at  length,  Margaret  entered  the  door,  her  head 
bowed  upon  her  breast  and  her  step  weary 
and  despondent,  he  knew  that  now  was  his 
time  to  close  effectually  this  one  avenue  lead- 
ing to  the  past.  Therefore,  calling  Margaret 
to  him,  and  sharply  inquiring  the  whereabouts 
of  her  late  journey,  he  learned  that  his  sur- 
mises were  correct ;  and  then  and  there  he  for- 
bade her  ever  again  to  speak  to  Jasper's  mother 
without  his  consent. 

"You  understand,  my  daughter,"  he  said, 
"that  I  am  your  natural  and  legal  guardian. 
98 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

I  choose  to  judge  for  you  in  this  matter;  nor 
is  it  necessary  that  I  should  explain  myself. 
I  shall  say  no  more." 

Henry  Lesage  was  not  given  to  many 
words.  He  was  a  man  coarsely  direct  and 
cruelly  implacable.  There  was  something  in 
the  suppressed  truculence  of  his  nature  that 
was  dreadful.  Above  all  his  fatherly  kindness 
there  towered  oppressively  the  distorted  shape 
of  an  inexorable  egoism.  So  his  huge  crush- 
ing will  took  her  own,  like  a  grain  of  wheat 
between  the  upper  and  the  nether  millstone,  and 
ground  it  to  powder. 

Margaret's  lips  were  ashen  as  she  listened 
to  his  icy  words,  yet  she  made  no  reply;  she 
humbled  her  head  to  the  stroke  of  destiny ;  but 
there  was  an  anguish  in  her  heart  that  forced 
hot  tears  from  her  eyelids,  and  she  hurried 
swiftly  to  her  chamber  to  weep  half  the  night 
away. 

There  are  crises  in  life,  when  we  tremble 
between  two  uncertainties — the  uncertain  pres- 
ent and  the  uncertain  future;  when  the  fore- 
99 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

boding  heart  shudders  under  its  twofold  bur- 
den of  doubt.  Then  despair  succeeds,  a  despair 
that  smks  into  indifference,  when,  though  some 
sudden  change  seems  to  be  imminent,  the  sensi- 
bilities are  numbed,  and  no  anxiety  is  felt  for 
the  future.  Miserable  hours  are  these,  for  in 
them  the  light  of  hope  flickers  and  dies.  We 
become  puppets  in  the  grasp  of  some  gigantic 
hand,  and  move  or  remain  quiescent  according 
to  a  volition  other  than  our  own. 

In  such  a  state  was  Margaret.  Impassivity 
had  followed  hard  upon  passionate  desire  and 
importunate  pain.  Her  life  was  poised,  as  it 
were,  upon  a  narrow  point.  Like  those  stu- 
pendous masses  far  up  among  mountains  in 
the  old  world,  so  nicely  balanced  that  a  single 
shout  will  destroy  their  equipoise  and  send 
them  crashing  into  the  valley  below;  so  Mar- 
garet felt  her  life  to  be  balanced  upon  the 
verge  of  an  unknown  gulf;  a  word,  a  breath, 
might  precipitate  her  into  the  depths  below, 
but  her  soul  was  paralyzed  and  she  could  not 
fear. 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

At  this  juncture,  Henry  Lesage  suffered  to 
pass  no  opportunity  to  utter  a  word  in  dis- 
paragement of  Jasper.  He  sought  to  impress 
upon  Margaret  the  worthlessness  of  a  man 
with  so  poor  an  aim  in  life  as  that  of  an  artist. 

"A  dauber  of  paint!"  he  would  sneer;  "a 
puddler  in  plaster!  Long  hair,  a  greasy  coat- 
collar,  and  threadbare  elbows — there  is  a  man 
for  you!"  And  he  would  laugh  with  a  scorn 
that  was  fairly  withering. 

Again  he  used  indirectly  to  taunt  her  with 
Jasper's  infidelity,  saying  that  doubtless  the  fel- 
low had  married  some  sloe-eyed  Italian  gypsy, 
and  was  even  then  eating  garlics  with  her  in  a 
mud  hut  on  the  outskirts  of  Rome. 

Henry  Lesage  was  a  wily  man.  He  knew 
not  a  little  of  the  human  heart,  at  least,  of 
Margaret's  heart.  He  never  mentioned  Jas- 
per's name  that  he  did  not  speak  lightly  of 
him,  or  attribute  to  him  base  intentions  and 
baser  deeds.  In  fact,  without  compunction  he 
was  wont  to  associate  the  name  of  the  poor  boy 
with  that  of  every  scapegoat  of  the  neighbor- 
101 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

hood,  until  Margaret  could  hardly  think  of  Jas- 
per without  equal  distress  and  disgust,  induced 
by  her  father's  repeated  slanders.  It  seems 
strange  that  she  should  not  have  readily  per- 
ceived the  motives  which  prompted  her  father's 
words.  In  fact,  she  was  far  from  placing  confi- 
dence in  the  truth  of  what  she  heard. 

But  life  is  linked  with  habit,  and  Margaret 
at  last  came  habitually  to  connect  Jasper's  name 
with  the  odious  character  which  her  father  gave 
him.  And  moreover — poor  thing! — she  be- 
lieved in  her  father — was  he  not  still  her  father  ? 
— while  she  had  begun  to  doubt  Jasper.  Still, 
her  heart  and  her  reason,  at  concord  in  this  in- 
stance, refused  to  disbelieve  utterly  in  the  up- 
rightness of  him  whom  she  had  known  from 
her  earliest  childhood,  and  who  seemed  to  be 
always  so  pure  and  noble  in  nature. 

Thus  the  winter  wore  away.  The  dead 
white  flat  of  the  ice-bound  river,  and  the  wild 
winds  careering  round  the  dreary  islands,  were 
in  singular  consonance  with  Margaret's  barren 
heart.  Deep  on  the  near  croft,  and  deep  on  the 
102 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

far-wooded  headland,  lay  the  drifted  snow. 
This  long  monotony  of  colorless  landscape,  too, 
was  in  peculiar  keeping  with  Margaret's  listless 
life. 

She  was  most  oppressed  when  there  was  a 
great  silence  in  the  air  and  upon  the  earth,  deep- 
ened perhaps  by  the  baying  of  a  distant  hound. 
Ragged  weeds  upthrust  their  brown  mournful 
stalks  through  the  crusted  blanket  of  the  snow. 
To  the  shivering  branches  clung  a  few  dry 
and  shrunken  leaves,  making  now  and  again  a 
soft  and  husky  rustling  in  the  stark  hushed 
woods.  Gray  rocks  bared  their  seamed  and 
lichened  masses  like  the  shoulders  of  giants 
washed  free  from  ancient  graves. 

Margaret  sought  nothing,  longed  for  noth- 
ing, since  the  whole  wide  world  contained  no 
bud  of  promise  that  had  not  shriveled  before 
untimely  frosts.  As  she  gazed  out  on  the  cold 
wide  waste  around  her,  and  swept  her  eye  along 
the  leaden  sky  line,  seeing  not  a  single  vernal 
sign,  her  own  life  seemed  to  be  pictured  forth 
with  startling  clearness.  For  she  looked  into 
103 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  coming  years  and  beheld  only  an  unbroken, 
wintry  expanse;  life  contained  nothing  good  for 
her. 

Yet,  deep  beneath  the  snow  and  ice  the 
rhythmic  pulsation  of  nature's  heart  goes  stead- 
ily on,  while  small  forces  silent  and  potent  are 
at  work,  causing  myriads  of  hidden  germs  to 
wake,  and  stir,  and  thrust  tender  but  invincible 
shoots,  like  splintered  emeralds,  upward 
through  the  ungenial  mold  till  spring  is  fairly 
ushered  into  the  rejoicing  world ;  so  in  the  deso- 
late heart  there  are  unconscious  influences  that 
act  on  slumbering  hopes,  until  they  push  them- 
selves up  and  are  felt,  and  a  new  season  of 
bloom  and  fruitage  is  born  in  human  life. 

The  winter  slowly  but  surely  passed,  since 
time  and  the  stars  sweep  steadily  on  in  their 
courses,  without  a  thought  or  care  for  broken 
hearts  and  lives.  It  is  the  soul  of  man  that 
vibrates  forever  betwixt  the  blessing  and  the 
bane. 

The  maiden  spring  with  laughter  and  danc- 
ing came  up  the  southern  slope,  gemming  the 
104 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

fields  with  cowslips  and  dandelions,  breathing 
upon  the  lingering  snow-banks  in  the  hollows 
of  the  woods  where  wake-robins  sprang  into 
beauty,  transforming  the  sere  hillocks  of  the 
pastures  into  mounds  of  living  green,  hanging 
catkins  upon  the  willows,  touching  the  sky  into 
a  deeper  blue,  and  filling  the  earth  with  mel- 
odies of  brook  and  bird. 

With  the  advent  of  spring,  another  spring 
had  birth  in  Margaret's  sad  young  heart.  She 
began  to  experience  a  lifting  of  the  dull  weight 
that  had  so  cumbered  her  spirit.  Youth  makes 
its  own  gladness;  and  by  the  time  the  leaves 
had  fairly  clothed  the  trees,  and  nesting  birds 
were  warbling  among  the  boughs,  they  were 
singing,  too,  in  her  heart, — not  with  loud  and 
joyous  notes,  but  with  faint  snatches  of  song 
that  were  presage  of  fuller  strains. 

Her  vision  seemed  to  be  anointed  anew  for 
the  dear  common  things  of  her  island  world. 
Once  more  she  found  comfort  amid  the  fields 
where  her  garments  brushed  the  beaded  cob- 
webs as  she  passed.  On  either  hand  daisies 
105 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

and  buttercups  nodded  in  the  breeze.  The  cory- 
dalis  lifted  its  pale  and  dreamlike  blossom  in 
hidden  places,  and  the  evening  primrose  scat- 
tered its  wizard  gold  where  there  was  none  to 
see  or  heed.  Bees  hummed  in  the  bells  of  cam- 
panulas. Insects  droned  and  danced  in  the 
shimmering  air.  The  pearl-white  clouds  lay 
soft  and  light  along  the  horizon,  their  opaline 
edges  dashed  with  hues  of  rose  and  pink  and 
violet. 

At  length,  blue-eyed  May  departed,  and  in 
her  stead  reigned  passion-shaken  June.  Mar- 
garet was  rushing  onward  into  the  vortex  of  a 
new  fate. 


106 


CHAPTER  VII 

Capture  of  tty  Cita&el 


"A  pressing  lover  seldom  wants  success, 
Whilst  the  respectful,  like  the  Greeks,  sits  down 
And  wastes  a  ten  years'  siege  before  one  town." 
— Rows.    To  THE  INCONSTANT. 

1  So,  with  decorum  all  things  carry'd ; 
Miss  frowned,  and  blushed,  and  then  was — married." 

— GOLDSMITH. 


OR  several  years  St.  Eustace  had 
been  growing  in  favor  as  a  summer 
resort,  offering  exceptional  advan- 
tages of  rest  and  recreation.  More 
than  a  year  had  elapsed  since  Jas- 
per's departure  for  Italy.  The 
bright  season  had  again  thrown  its  flower- 
wrought  mantle  over  the  beautiful  island.  To 
St.  Eustace  came  the  usual  throng,  some  pale- 
faced  and  weary,  some  proud  and  vain,  to 
breathe  the  sweet  air  of  the  sun-flecked  fields 
and  of  the  sparkling  river. 

Fashions  change,  but  one  fashion  remains 
ever  the  same.  The  great  purpose  of  the  idle 
rich  in  every  age  is  to  discover,  if  possible, 
some  new  and  untried  happiness.  Such  was  the 
motive  of  many  who  hastened  to  the  cool,  de- 
licious embraces  of  this  island  retreat. 

Yet,  it  was  not  so  with  air  who  came.    For 
some  were  pallid  invalids,  some  were  harassed 
109 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

clergymen,  and  others  were  care-worn  busi- 
ness men,  who  were  trying  to  get  back  a  little 
of  the  old  sweetness  and  joy  of  life  in  a  loving 
communion  with  nature,  and  who  were  long 
since  past  pursuing  the  iridescent  bubble  of 
merely  fashionable  amusement. 

Among  those  who  sojourned  at  St.  Eustace 
during  this  particular  season  was  a  young  man 
named  Philip  Fordham.  He  was  vivacious, 
well-looking,  and  apparently  open-hearted,  with 
the  prestige  of  patrician  descent,  and  the  repu- 
tation of  abundant  wealth.  He  had  visited  St. 
Eustace  once  or  twice  before,  and  having  then 
met  Margaret  at  her  father's  home,  had  been 
strongly  attracted  by  the  fine  and  uncommon 
quality  of  her  beauty.  Through  all  his  subse- 
quent travels  he  had  remembered  the  island  girl, 
and  now  that  he  saw  her  after  she  had  devel- 
oped into  a  richer  and  maturer  beauty,  he  was 
smitten  anew  and  determined  to  win  her. 

Henry  Lesage  looked  with  unmistakable 
complacence  upon  the  evident  interest  which 
the  ingenuous  Fordham  manifested  toward  his 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

daughter.  On  the  other  hand,  Margaret  re- 
ceived his  addresses  with  such  indifference  that 
it  would  have  cooled  the  warmest  passion  of  a 
less  resolute  and  more  sensitive  man  than  Ford- 
ham.  Yet,  nothing  daunted,  he  continued  to 
press  his  attentions  upon  her ;  moreover,  he  per- 
ceived that  he  had  a  faithful  and,  as  he  had 
good  reason  to  believe,  powerful  ally  in  her 
father. 

His  earnestness  grew  apace,  and  he  began 
ardently  to  urge  his  cause.  Fordham  had  one 
fair  quality,  often  inherent  in  obtuse  natures, 
which  was  highly  commendable ;  it  was  that  of 
perseverance.  He  knew  that  to  succeed  in  an 
undertaking — in  affairs  of  the  heart  as  well  as 
other  affairs — it  is  necessary  to  keep  the  enter- 
prise always  in  view ;  to  work  steadily  towards 
it  as  an  end,  no  matter  what  obstructing  com- 
plications may  arise.  So  he  continued  to  ad- 
vance his  claims  on  such  scores  as  only  a  lover 
can  invent,  and,  as  he  soon  perceived,  with  an 
encouraging  degree  of  success. 

Margaret,  subject  to  that  curious  perver- 
iii 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

sity  of  will  which  we  have  already  described, 
influenced  by  her  father's  wishes  and  Jasper's 
still  unbroken  silence,  at  length  began  to  re- 
lent. A  nature  like  hers  makes  its  own  phi- 
losophy; she  sought  no  excuse  for  herself,  for 
she  seemed  to  need  none.  She  loved  her  father 
with  that  unreasoning  feminine  devotion  which 
constitutes  the  mystery  and  the  glory  of  a  wo- 
man's nature ;  and  in  all  matters  save  her  prefer- 
ence for  Jasper  he  was  indulgent  towards  her. 
Secretly  he  was  quite  proud  of  her.  She  de- 
lighted to  hear  him  call  her  by  the  old  child- 
ish name  of  "Margy."  This  he  did  when  he 
was  specially  pleased  with  her. 

"You  have  been  a  good  girl  to-day,  Margy." 
To  hear  these  words  from  her  father's  lips, 
as  if  still  spoken  to  a  child,  was  to  thrill  her 
with  a  sudden  happiness  which  nothing  else 
could  afford  her.  And  these  words  generally 
followed  some  kindness  which  she  had  be- 
stowed upon  Philip  Fordham. 

Yet  Margaret's  love   for  her   father  was 
mixed  with  a  covert  fear,  because  his  soften- 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

ings  toward  her  were  still  tempered  by  a  con- 
scious severity.  She  longed  to  gratify ;  her  na- 
ture drooped  and  languished  under  rebuke ;  and 
she  was  glad  to  purchase  her  father's  approval 
at  almost  any  cost.  She  was  miserable  when- 
ever his  dark  eyes  were  bent  on  her  with  any 
look  other  than  that  of  approbation. 

No  doubt,  too,  like  all  other  women,  Mar- 
garet wished  to  be  personally  admired ;  she  was 
not  ignorant  of  her  own  attractions,  and  her 
maiden  vanity  was  flattered  by  the  addresses 
of  a  handsome  and  wealthy  man  who  was  so 
much  more  fervid  and  aggressive  than  Jasper. 
Margaret  was  one  of  those  women  the  citadels 
of  whose  hearts  can  be  taken  by  storm. 

She  used  sadly  to  think  that  perhaps  if  there 
had  been  more  of  the  ordinary  open  inter- 
changes of  love  between  herself  and  Jasper,  she 
could  have  braved  more  for  his  sake. 

She  could  have  dared  to  cross  her  father's 

will  if  she  had  had  something  wildly  sweet  and 

irresistible  to  which  her  memory  might  have 

clung  for  support.    But  the  recollection  of  that 

8  113 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

one  fair  night  when  they  had  first  kissed  and 
last  parted  was  now  little  more  than  a  dream. 
Memory  could  draw  no  courage,  and  love  no 
sustenance,  from  that  source,  for  it  had  become 
too  mistlike  and  unreal. 

Still,  it  was  strange,  she  thought,  that  the 
remembrance  of  that  far  dear  hour,  when  she 
gave  Jasper  her  parting  promise  and  felt  his 
warm,  glad  lips  upon  her  own,  should  haunt 
her  so  continually.  There  was  the  betrothal 
ring  upon  a  ribbon  about  her  neck  (for  she 
dared  not  wear  it  upon  her  finger  lest  her  father 
should  discover  it)  ;  yes,  there  was  the  ring, 
but  its  significance  had  become  as  shadowy  as 
had  the  moment  in  which  she  had  received  it. 

But  now  she  reflected  that  she  ought  to  lay 
the  ring  aside;  Jasper  would  never  return  to 
her  again.  The  past  was  beyond  recall,  and 
she  stood  upon  the  border  of  a  new  life;  not 
an  altogether  peaceful  life,  but  one  that  prom- 
ised at  least  forgetfulness. 

"O,"  she  was  wont  to  cry  out  in  her  heart, 


114 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

"if  only  the  memory  of  that  old  tender  night 
would  leave  me,  I  could  be  happy !" 

Now  and  then  she  would  go  down  to  the 
bank  of  the  river,  and  gaze  at  the  water  as  it 
glided  past  her  to  the  ocean,  and  think  that 
perhaps  the  very  waves  beneath  her  eyes  would 
sometime  lave  the  distant  shore  where  Jasper 
lived  and  moved. 

Would  that  the  river,  the  bewitching  old 
river  she  had  loved  from  early  childhood,  and 
whose  mighty  heart  pulsed  in  unison  with  her 
own,  might  bear  a  message  to  the  wanderer 
over  the  sea,  that  Margaret  still  was  true ! 

"True?"  she  asked  herself,  "was  she  true?" 
Cjod  only  knew,  for  she  had  ceased  to  trust  in 
her  own  heart. 

And  Jasper — where  was  he?  He  was  wait- 
ing, still  waiting,  beneath  bright  but  mocking 
skies  for  a  word  that  never  came. 

What  a  magnitude  of  misery  is  measured 
in  the  earth  by  the  span  of  the  wide  arch  above 
us !  There  is  many  a  care-darkened  soul  mov- 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border   . 

ing  blindly  through  the  world  in  the  light,  but 
seeing  it  not,  the  darkness  rendered  the  deeper 
by  the  ever-increasing  contrast  between  the 
blackness  within  and  the  brightness  without. 

At  first  Jasper's  mind  was  kept  from  prey- 
ing upon  itself  by  his  absorption  in  his  art. 
Renowned  masters  in  Rome  spoke  of  him  as  a 
most  promising  pupil.  But  gradually  the  in- 
terest in  his  art  was  swallowed  up  by  the  one 
great  longing  of  his  life;  then,  losing  the  sacred 
impulse  that  had  urged  him  on,  his  hand  also 
seemed  to  lose  its  cunning  with  chisel  and 
brush. 

In  the  early  period  of  his  life  abroad  he 
had  written  to  Margaret  very  often;  then,  less 
and  less  frequently,  until,  his  heart  grown  sick 
unto  death  with  hope  long  deferred,  he  ceased 
writing  altogether.  He  grew  poorer,  and  yet 
more  poor.  He  could  not  support  himself  by 
his  work.  Buyers  were  scarce  and  artists 
abounded  in  Rome.  The  income  which  he  re- 
ceived from  his  patrimony  was  insufficient  to 
meet  even  his  modest  requirements.  He  could 
116 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

not  bear  to  think  of  returning  home  and  ac- 
knowledging to  Margaret  that  he  had  failed. 

"Margaret!"  he  thought,  "what  did  he 
know  of  Margaret?  Was  she  dead  or  alive? 
If  alive,  was  she  married?" 

He  concluded  that  the  latter  was  probably 
the  case,  as  his  mother  had  never  written  to 
him  that  his  affianced  bride  was  dead.  Well, 
if  she  had  forsaken  him,  he  would  never  per- 
mit her  to  look  upon  the  ruin  of  his  life.  He 
would  remain  in  a  foreign  land  until  he  per- 
ished. 

Alas,  the  blind  mistakes  of  youth!  Could 
we  only  live  over  again  even  half  of  our  life, 
how  different  it  would  be !  But  we  are  hurried 
along  with  the  years,  and  leave  forever  behind 
us  the  opportunities  we  have  missed. 

Jasper  changed  his  lodgings  again  and 
again,  always  going  a  little  further  into  the 
poorer  quarter  of  the  city,  where  wretched- 
ness and  squalor  held  carnival,  and  where 
nameless  foul  odors  mixed  with  the  stench 
of  garlics  was  well-nigh  intolerable.  His 
117 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

health  rapidly  declined.  He  was  pale  and  thin, 
and  moved  about  like  a  shadow.  As  he  slipped 
along,  wan  and  ghostlike,  with  hungry  hollow 
eyes  that  seemed  to  be  seeking  for  what  they 
never  found,  those  who  knew  him  best  whis- 
pered to  one  another  that  the  young  Americano 
hid  in  his  heart  a  secret  of  which  he  was  dying. 

Philip  Fordham  never  relaxed  his  efforts 
to  win  Margaret's  affections,  but  pressed  his 
suit  vigorously  from  week  to  week.  One  day 
Henry  Lesage  called  his  daughter  into  his  pres- 
ence, and  asked  her  if  she  had  heard  that  Jasper 
Forsyth  was  dead. 

Margaret  blanched  with  a  sudden  spasm 
at  her  heart,  and  for  an  instant  the  world 
reeled  round  her;  but  she  answered  nothing. 
She  feared  to  speak  lest  her  voice  should  betray 
her  emotion. 

The  father  was  not  deceived;  his  quick  eye 
perceived  her  agitation;  but  he  continued  as 
coolly  as  though  relating  any  ordinary  bit  of 
news.  He  told  her  that,  during  his  passage 


118 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

homeward  several  months  before,  Jasper  For- 
syth  had  died  of  a  malignant  fever  on  ship- 
board, and  that,  fearing  the  spread  of  the  dis- 
ease among  the  remaining  passengers  upon  the 
vessel,  his  body  had  been  hastily  buried  at  sea. 
Of  course,  it  was  a  sheer  fabrication.  But 
Lesage  took  this  bold  and  somewhat  danger- 
ous method  of  destroying  any  lingering  hope 
that  Margaret  might  entertain  of  Jasper's  re- 
turn. It  was  evident,  too,  that  this  procedure 
was  not  repudiated  by  Philip  Fordham. 
Doubtless  the  young  gentleman  maintained 
that  "all  is  fair  in  love  and  war."  Yet  it  should 
not  be  understood  that  he  actively  aided  the 
deception.  Far  from  it!  he  was  on  his  good 
behavior  now,  and  was  bound  to  appear  unex- 
ceptionable in  Margaret's  eyes.  So  he  scorned 
to  take  any  mean  advantage  of  an  absent  rival 
— which,  be  it  observed,  was  extremely  mag- 
nanimous !  But  if  he  did  not  assist  in  the  de- 
ceit, he  at  least  connived  at  it.  Meanwhile  he 
lost  no  opportunity  to  be  at  Margaret's  side. 


119 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

Somehow,  too,  the  rumor  became  current 
that  Fordham  and  Margaret  had  been  form- 
ally betrothed.  Yet  no  one  could  remember 
that  the  banns  had  been  published.  However, 
the  rumor  was  not  without  its  effect  upon  Mar- 
garet. Possessing  all  a  woman's  sensitiveness 
to  matrimonial  affairs  touching  herself,  to- 
gether with  that  mystery  of  caprice  character- 
istic of  the  sex,  she  came  to  desire  that  gossip 
of  this  kind  should  not  circulate  unsupported 
by  fact;  and  this  the  more,  inasmuch  as  it  was 
hinted  that  the  report  had  originated  with  her 
own  father. 

Then,  too,  though  in  her  heart  she  said 
peace  to  the  dead,  pique  against  Jasper,  be- 
cause of  his  perfidy  toward  her,  was  mingled 
with  this  feeling;  unconsciously,  it  is  true, 
though  none  the  less  effectively.  Moreover, 
she  had  long  since  ceased  to  look  coldly  upon 
Philip.  He  had  become  something  more  to  her 
than  a  friend,  and  she  began  to  treat  him  like 
a  privileged  lover.  Poor  Margaret!  her  heart 
had  been  very  desolate.  Companionship  and 
120 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

sympathy  were  sweet  to  her,  and  her  need  was 
sore. 

When  Philip  became  aware  of  Margaret's 
altered  disposition  toward  him  he  did  not  fail 
to  act  promptly  and  present  his  heart  and 
hand  at  the  favoring  moment.  And  need  we 
say  they  were  accepted  ?  Margaret's  impassive, 
tacit  acquiescence  could  hardly  be  called  an  ac- 
ceptance. Yet  Philip  chose  to  consider  it  so. 
A  near  time  in  the  future  was  named  for  the 
wedding,  and  Margaret  did  not  dissent. 

All  the  nuptial  arrangements  were  hurriedly 
made.  Suddenly  Margaret  was  seized  with 
some  wild  ardor,  and  for  a  single  month  she 
was  in  a  whirl  of  excitement.  She  had  little 
space  for  reflection.  Half  the  time  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  was  in  a  dream.  Yet  she  was 
not  unhappy.  On  the  contrary,  she  looked  for- 
ward to  her  marriage  day  with  blissful  hopes 
and  a  throbbing  heart.  Had  she  known  of  that 
lonely,  hopeless  life,  creeping  upon  a  broken 
wing  so  far  away,  how  different  her  wedding 
would  have  been !  Limitations  have  been  mer- 

121 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

ci fully  set  to  our  human  powers,  and  time  and 
distance  kindly  debar  us  from  many  a  cause  of 
sorrow. 

The  auspicious  day  quickly  arrived.  The 
island  from  end  to  end  was  a  brilliant  scene 
of  holiday  and  festivity.  The  bride  was  radi- 
ant in  her  snowy  robes,  though  her  face  was 
pale,  and  close  observers  noticed  that  it  was 
shadowed  with  melancholy.  Nothing  could 
have  been  more  beautiful  than  the  passage  of 
the  bridal  train  to  the  little  church.  Even  at 
this  day,  in  describing  it  the  islanders  reach  a 
pitch  of  enthusiasm  quite  incredible. 

A  strange  incident  is  said  to  have  occurred 
immediately  at  the  close  of  the  marriage  cere- 
mony. Whether  it  were  but  the  superstition 
of  illiterate  people,  ready  always  to  construe 
every  circumstance,  however  trivial,  into  an 
omen,  or  whether  it  were  the  result  of  a  natu- 
ral and  easily  explainable  cause,  it  is  not  in  the 
province  of  this  narrator  to  discuss. 

It  is  related  that,  upon  the  conclusion  of 
the  nuptial  rites,  while  the  guests  were  leaving 
122 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  sacred  portals,  the  bells  of  the  church  in  the 
little  hamlet  refused  to  sound  a  wedding  peal, 
but,  baffling  the  efforts  of  the  sexton  to  ring 
them  merrily,  insisted  upon  tolling  as  if  for 
a  funeral. 

It  is  added,  also,  that  upon  this  fateful  day 
the  heavens  were  suddenly  overcast  with  angry 
clouds,  and  even  while  the  priest  invoked  a 
blessing  upon  the  twain  made  one,  there  came 
an  ear-splitting  crash  that  seemed  to  rend  the 
earth  asunder.  Soon  after,  it  was  observed 
that  an  immemorial  elm  standing  before  the 
Lesage  mansion,  and  said  to  have  been  planted 
by  the  founder  of  the  family,  had  been  cloven 
trunk  and  branch. 

Thus  Margaret  Lesage  and  Philip  Fordham 
were  married.  And  while  from  their  brazen 
throats  the  bells  sent  forth  their  doleful  chal- 
lenge, in  a  narrow  cottage  across  the  fields 
there  sat  a  lonely  widow  in  her  weeds,  think- 
ing of  a  beloved  boy  between  whom  and  her- 
self the  waters  of  the  wide  ocean  rolled — 
thinking,  thinking,  while  a  mother's  tears 
123 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

slipped  through  her  faded  ringers,  blistering 
anew  the  already  blurred  pages  of  his  last  ten- 
der and  sorrowful  letter.  But  the  bells,  re- 
morseless as  the  voice  of  doom,  kept  ringing, 
though  every  stroke  was  a  knell  of  despair  to 
her  loving  heart. 


124 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ana 


'To  fret  thy  soule  with  crosses  and  with  cares; 
To  eat  thy  heart  through  comfortless  despairs; 
To  fawn,  to  crowche,  to  waite,  to  ride,  to  ronne, 
To  spend,  to  give,  to  want,  to  be  undonne." 

— SPENSER. 

"  Life  treads  on  life,  and  heart  on  heart — 
We  press  too  close  in  church  and  mart, 
To  keep  a  dream  or  grave  apart." 

—MRS.  BROWNING. 


O  Philip  Fordham  and  Margaret 
Lesage  were  married.  To  the  wife, 
weary  were  the  months  that  with- 
ered the  bridal  roses  and  crumbled 
the  orange  blossoms  to  dust;  still, 
it  were  not  truth  to  say  that  her  life 
was  void  of  prospective  gleams  of  joy.  But  she 
had  entered  an  arid  land,  where  often  the  scant 
waters  were  bitter  of  which  she  drank !  Some- 
times a  green  oasis  would  appear,  when  her 
delighted  eyes  would  rest  themselves  on  the 
emerald  coolness,  and  she  would  quaff  of  purl- 
ing streams  with  eager  lips,  and  gather  mellow 
fruits  with  happy  hands. 

What  a  mystery  is  this  which  we  call  life! 
The  world  keeps  its  eternal  balance,  and  for 
every  loss  there  is  far  or  near  some  commen- 
surate gain.  There  is  no  sorrow  that  over- 
takes us  which  has  not  somewhere  a  kindred 
joy.  Nature  is  not  niggardly  of  her  bless- 
127 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

ings,  though  often  they  come  to  us  in  disguise. 
Shall  we  ever  learn  to  entertain  our  angels 
awares?  Not  until  we  catch  a  last  receding 
view  as  they  leave  us  forever,  do  we  recognize 
in  them  the  supreme  ministers  of  Divine  grace 
to  us.  Yet  there  is  a  wise  Benignity  over  all, 
and  we  shall  not  fail  out  of  the  everlasting 
Love  and  Care. 

To  Margaret  nature  brought  a  sweet  solace ; 
when  the  first  feeble  cry  of  her  infant  fell  upon 
her  ears,  it  entered  her  heart  like  a  healing. 
Those  were  joyful  days,  replete  with  peace  and 
contentment,  yet,  like  sunshine  checkered  with 
shade,  not  unmixed  with  pain  and  affectionate 
foreboding,  as  she  lay  with  her  babe's  waxen 
fingers  nestled  against  her  bosom  and  its  little 
breath  upon  her  cheek. 

O  sanctity  of  motherhood!  The  young 
wife  felt  that  the  Good  Father  did  not  alto- 
gether refuse  to  smile  upon  her;  the  sunlight 
streamed  about  her,  and  the  birds  sang  in  her 
heart.  To  live  was  to  love,  and  to  love  so  pure 
a  being  was  to  draw  near  to  heaven.  The  tears 
128 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

that  bedewed  the  mother's  Gethsemane  were 
the  tears  of  her  heart's  redemption  from  de- 
spair. The  pangs  and  the  peril  of  travail  were 
past,  and  now  hers  was  an  estate  of  bliss  as- 
sured. 

The  child  sweetly  throve,  and  as  it  daily 
grew  in  strength,  so  grew  Margaret's  affec- 
tion and  tranquillity.  What  though  the  father's 
habits  were  irregular?  What  though,  the  edge 
of  his  passion  already  dulled,  he  became  stolid 
and  reticent  ?  Did  she  not  nurse  at  her  throb- 
bing breast  a  purer  life  and  a  fonder  love  than 
all  others?  The  outreaching  tendrils  of  her 
heart  owned  a  new  object  around  which  to 
twine.  In  the  days  that  were  past  these  ten- 
drils had  been  torn  and  trampled,  but  now  they 
should  cling  desperately  to  this  young  life,  and 
need  no  other  human  support.  Already  her  im- 
agination was  busy  with  the  child's  future. 

It  was  a  strange  fatality  that  Margaret 
should  have  named  her  baby  Jasper;  yet  with 
an  alien  tenacity  of  will  she  adhered  to  her  pur- 
pose, and  the  husband  must  needs  comply. 
9  129 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

"Why  call  the  brat  Jasper  ?"  he  asked.  "Do 
you  wish  him  to  become  the  kind  of  a  man  that 
his  namesake  was?  O  yes,  I  understand  my 
lady's  little  sickly  sentiment" — and  he  laughed 
coarsely,  while  a  sneer  distorted  the  features 
of  his  still  handsome  but  dissipated  face. 

Before  the  coming  of  her  child,  tempestu- 
ous seasons  had  dawned  upon  Margaret  and 
her  husband.  He,  hard,  imperious,  half- 
drunken,  would  overbear  her  finer  nature  with 
all  the  rude  aggressions  of  an  increasing  boor- 
ishness ;  she,  driven  to  the  verge  of  desperation, 
would  turn  fiercely  upon  him,  like  a  hunted 
creature  at  bay.  These  hours  of  domestic  in- 
felicity became  more  frequent,  and  the  pride 
which  had  at  first  concealed  them  was  already 
wearing  away. 

Henry  Lesage  was  not  blind  to  his  daugh- 
ter's sorrow;  but,  conscious  that  he  had  been 
largely  instrumental  in  bringing  it  upon  her, 
hesitated  to  interfere. 

One  day,  in  the  midst  of  a  scene  of  un- 
usual turbulence  between  the  husband  and  the 
130 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

wife,  Margaret's  father  suddenly  appeared  at 
the  door. 

"How  now,  Phil?  What  does  this  mean?" 
he  asked.  "While  I  am  alive  I  will  suffer  no 
one  to  ill-treat  my  daughter,  whether  it  be 
her  husband  or  any  other  person.  I  have  heard 
you,  my  friend,  and  I  warn  you  that  this  occa- 
sion must  never  be  repeated."  There  was  in 
the  father's  eye  a  dangerous  glint  which  the 
tipsy  husband  perceived,  and  he  slunk  away 
without  a  word  in  reply. 

Lesage  crossed  the  room  to  the  sofa  where 
the  outraged  wife  had  thrown  herself  white 
and  trembling.  He  took  the  poor  girl  in  his 
arms,  softly  patting  her  head  and  stroking  her 
hair.  This  unwonted  tenderness,  in  one  so  tac- 
iturn and  undemonstrative  as  her  father,  broke 
up  the  deep  fountains  of  Margaret's  tortured 
heart ;  the  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes,  and  her 
frame  was  shaken  with  convulsive  sobs. 

"Never  mind,  my  little  girl,"  said  Lesage, 
with  quivering  lips,  "while  I  am  on  earth  you 
shall  never  lack  a  protector." 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

Thereafter,  between  father  and  daughter 
sprang  up  a  voiceless  but  satisfying  sympathy, 
which  secretly  comforted  the  hearts  of  both. 

In  the  days  of  his  courtship  Philip  Fordham 
had  been  finical  to  a  degree  in  his  tastes  and 
dress;  now  he  was  quite  the  reverse.  Appa- 
rently he  could  conceive  of  no  loftier  ambition 
in  life  than  to  support  between  his  teeth  the 
small  end  of  a  meerschaum  pipe,  while  it  was 
being  variously  stained  with  tobacco  smoke  at 
the  other  end;  or,  standing  in  the  door  of 
Scrogg's  Tavern,  surrounded  by  an  admiring 
group  of  kindred  spirits,  to  launch  with  un- 
erring accuracy  an  amber-colored  stream  of 
tobacco  juice  into  a  dog's  eye,  greatly  to  his 
admirers'  vociferous  delight;  which  pleasant 
and  remarkable  feat  accomplished,  he  would 
convulse  them  with  an  ingenious  oath,  and 
then  go  on  in  to  take  another  drink  at  the  bar. 
Sad,  infinitely  sad,  is  the  decline  of  a  human 
soul! 

It  is  seldom  easy  to  acknowledge  an  error 
after  it  has  once  been  committed.  Henry  Le- 
132 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

sage  saw  that  he  had  overshot  the  mark  in 
clearing  the  way  for  Philip  Fordham  to  secure 
Margaret's  hand.  But,  sorely  as  he  was  con- 
scious of  this  fact,  he  was  the  last  one  who 
would  confess  it. 

He  himself  had  always  been  highly  respect- 
able. He  had  never  been  seen  dram  drinking, 
gambling,  or  cock-fighting,  nor  had  he  ever 
been  heard  to  blaspheme  save  upon  very  ex- 
traordinary and  in  his  view  justifiable  occa- 
sions! He  despised  the  sottish  habits  of  his 
son-in-law ;  but  he  had  voluntarily,  nay  eagerly, 
placed  his  own  head  in  the  noose,  and  now  he 
was  not  the  man  to  whimper  because  the  latter 
was  tightening  in  a  manner  as  uncomfortable 
as  unexpected.  So  for  many  months  Ford- 
ham  had  gone  on  unreproved  except  by  his 
wife — for  whose  reproofs  he  cared  nothing — 
and  Margaret's  life  had  grown  darker  and 
darker.  Often  she  felt  impelled  to  kneel  and 
pray  that  the  knotted  coil  of  her  troubles  some- 
how might  be  dissolved. 

But  now  a  little  one  had  come.  Once  more 
133 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

there  was  sunshine  and  dew  in  the  wife's  glad 
heart.  It  was  a  mystical  light  and  a  mysteri- 
ous wisdom  that  shone  out  from  the  child's 
blue  eyes.  He  did  not  like  his  father,  and 
Philip  at  first  was  piqued  and  then  embittered 
against  his  boy.  The  child  clung  to  his  mother 
with  an  instinctive  love  that  would  brook  no 
separation.  The  undercurrent  of  their  beings 
seemed  to  meet  and  flow  together  deep  down 
in  those  occult  channels  of  life  which  are  hid- 
den forever  from  mortal  search.  The  most 
perfect  sympathy  blended  their  two  lives  into 
one,  and  they  were  remote  in  nothing  save  in 
years.  How  is  it  that  not  infrequently,  as  the 
precursor  of  some  fell  misfortune,  the  heart 
seems  to  be  lulled  into  an  unwonted  peace  and 
security?  It  is  not  always  true  that  "coming 
events  cast  their  shadows  before." 

Time  passed  by.  A  year  rolled  away — a 
bright,  even  blissful  year  to  Margaret,  notwith- 
standing her  husband's  abuses.  The  love  of 
her  little  son  could  cancel  all  Philip's  indiffer- 
ence. 

134 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

They  had  continued  to  dwell  in  her  father's 
house,  for  somehow  Margaret  felt  safer  there. 
But  this  was  not  the  only  reason  why  she  did 
not  go  to  the  distant  city  where  her  husband's 
parents  dwelt.  Now  and  then  there  are  small 
incidents  which  discover  the  fact  that  in  hearts 
the  most  jejune  the  milk  of  human  kindness  has 
not  become  altogether  acid. 

Henry  Lesage  was  a  lonely  man ;  perverted 
as  had  been  the  sanctities  of  his  life,  still  he 
cherished  his  only  daughter.  True,  his  love 
found  a  selfish  expression,  and  he  tried  to  make 
his  ambition  her  ambition;  yet  he  never  for- 
got that  her  eyes  were  blue  like  her  mother's, 
and  that  her  voice  was  of  the  same  silvery  ca- 
dence. Therefore  he  could  not  bear  that  she 
should  leave  him  after  her  marriage ;  hence  she 
and  her  husband  had  remained  at  the  island 
home. 

Once  in  the  midsummer  month,  after  a  day 
of  unusual  calm,  the  twilight  fell  and  deep- 
ened into  night,  bringing  with  it  such  a  gra- 
cious sense  of  unending  repose  as  almost  to 
135 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

induce  the  fancy  that  Time  had  lost  his  hour- 
glass and  had  somewhere  stolen  away  for  a 
perpetual  sleep. 

The  heavy  perfume  of  roses  and  jasmine 
was  in  the  air.  Deep  quiescence  was  upon 
Margaret's  spirit.  All  day  long,  since  early 
morning,  she  had  breathed  such  restfulness  and 
contentment  as  she  had  not  known  in  many 
months  before ;  and  now  this  one  supreme  hour, 
when  night  had  closed  down  over  the  earth  like 
a  mother-bird  over  her  nestlings,  had  brought 
the  culmination  of  her  peace. 

She  sat  with  the  child  in  her  arms,  and  on 
its  little  heart  the  spell  had  also  fallen,  for  it 
was  lapsing  into  slumber.  Then  blest  in  her 
inmost  soul,  and  soothing  to  balmy  dreams  her 
darling  boy,  she  sang  to  a  tender  melody  of  her 
own  these  words  of  lullaby : 

Sleep,  O  my  babe,  not  thine  a  manger 

Where  cradled  lies  thy  helpless  head: 
No  oxen  low,  dear,  little  stranger, 
And  wondering  stare  above  thy  bed ; 
Thou  need'st  not  weep ; 
Ah,  slumber  deep, 

136 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

For  fond  hearts  wake  while  thou  dost  sleep, 
And  light  as  dews  shed  from  the  skies, 
Love  shuts  the  violets  of  thine  eyes : 

Not  in  a  stall 

Love's  kisses  all 
As  soft  as  rose  leaves  on  thee  fall. 

Sing,  Margaret  Fordham,  sing  while  yet 
you  may;  for  the  time  draws  near  when  the 
song  shall  be  frozen  in  your  heart.  Yea,  sing — 
for  as  yet  the  music  is  neither  frenzied  nor 
broken;  and  another  has  heard  your  song,  to 
whom  your  voice  has  been  silent  through  ruined 
and  wasted  years,  but  in  whose  heart  are  still 
whispering  the  words  of  a  solemn  promise 
never  to  be  fulfilled. 

See,  even  now  he  comes  ghostlike  across 
the  fields!  Ah,  why  upon  this  night  of  all 
others  should  he  appear,  an  accusing  wraith 
from  a  "vast  and  wandering  grave,"  to  vex 
with  sorrow  and  misgiving  a  life  already  so 
grievously  tried  ? 

Be  at  peace,  young  mother,  do  not  fear. 
The  quiet  flowers  spill  their  heavy  incense  at 
your  door.  The  tranquil  night  is  a  talisman 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

that  will  serve  to  guard  you  at  this  moment 
from  aught  that  might  harry  your  memory. 

Yonder  indistinct  figure,  faltering  across 
the  dew-wet  lawn,  comes  not  to  trouble  you 
with  shattered  hopes  and  sundered  promises  in 
this  your  hour  of  joy.  It  will  be  brief  enough 
at  the  longest.  That  bowed  and  broken  form, 
retaining  only  the  semblance  of  past  manhood 
and  power,  would  awaken  in  your  heart  the 
pain  which  has  not  been  banished,  but  lies 
dormant  only. 

And  now,  while  the  low  notes  of  your  lul- 
laby are  yet  tremulous  on  the  night,  like  a 
wounded  thing  that  seeks  sympathy  and  re- 
lief, he  eagerly  draws  nigh. 

Start  not!  You  shall  not  see  his  face, 
though  he  pauses  an  instant  before  the  vine- 
screened  window,  revealing  a  countenance  hag- 
gard with  woe.  Be  at  rest,  we  say,  for  he 
utters  no  cry,  but  trails  away  again  into  the 
darkness,  and  is  seen  no  more. 

Fond  singer,  already  the  chill  shadow  of 
the  death  angel  has  fallen  athwart  your  hearth- 
138 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

stone.  Merciful  is  the  Providence  that  denies 
to  mortals  prevision  of  their  destiny.  Were 
it  otherwise  the  misery  to  be  would  serve  to 
annihilate  the  joy  of  the  present.  Almost  the 
highest  manifestation  of  Divine  love  for  hu- 
mankind is  revealed  in  our  ignorance  of  the 
future. 


CHAPTER  IX 


"  Tis  not  a  life; 
Tis  but  a  piece  of  childhood  thrown  away." 

—BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER— Philaster. 

" — A  simple  child, 
That  lightly  draws  its  breath, 
And  feels  its  life  in  every  limb, 
What  should  it  know  of  death?" 

—WORDSWORTH. 


AVE  'E  heerd  that  Jap  Forsyth  has 
been  seen  in  the  Island?" 

"Ay,  that  I  hev,  but  can't  find 
no  one  who  's  seen  'im  'zactly." 

"Well,  they  do  say  ez  he  was 
here,  lookin'  ez  peaked  and  chalky 
ez  a  dead  man.  Seems  he  did  n't  die  on  ship- 
board 't  all.  The  hull  thing  was  a  lie,  but 
prob'ly  them  ez  told  the  lie  wish't  'ud  ben 
true." 

"Prob'ly.  I  've  heerd  that  old  lady  Forsyth 
is  turr'ble  broke  up.  She  thought  Jap  'ud 
come  home  to  stay,  but  he  left  agin  right  off 
betwixt  two  days." 

"Poor  feller !  I  'spose  he  could  n't  abear  to 
see  another  man  in  the  place  where  he  orter 
ben  hisself." 

"I  allus  did  like  Jap,  but  he  did  n't  never 
seem  to  hev  no  force  'bout  'im.  Wheer  's  he 
gone  to  now?" 

143 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

"Don't  know.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  he 
did  n't  come  back  no  more." 

"Should  n't  wonder.  Well,  so  long,  Cal !  I 
must  git  down  to  the  Lower  Bay  before  noon." 

Such  was  the  conversation  that  took  place 
between  two  boatmen  at  the  small  landing  not 
far  from  Mrs.  Forsyth's  cottage.  Evidently 
there  was  a  widespread  impression  among  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Island  that  Jasper  had  lately 
returned  to  his  boyhood's  home,  but  had  de- 
parted again  without  delay. 

Brief  and  evanescent  was  Margaret's  peace- 
ful happiness;  for  even  while  he  slept  in  her 
arms  a  subtle  change  wrapped  in  its  coils  the 
tiny  boy,  and  already  he  was  withering  in  its 
mortal  grip. 

At  first,  Margaret  noticed  nothing  amiss 
with  the  child;  but  when  the  little  sufferer, 
disquieted  in  his  sleep,  uttered  a  low  moan  of 
pain  it  pierced  her  like  the  thrust  of  a  poniard. 
It  was  a  singular  circumstance,  that,  almost 
coincidently  with  the  appearance  of  that  pallid 


144 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

face  at  the  window,  sickness  should  have  seized 
Margaret's  golden-haired  little  son. 

A  physician  was  hastily  summoned;  but 
perplexed  and  baffled  he  could  afford  no  ap- 
preciable aid.  The  malady  was  a  strange  one, 
and  defied  diagnosis.  The  child  seemed  sud- 
denly to  grow  old;  its  piteous  little  face  ex- 
hibited all  the  marks  of  advanced  age.  The 
most  striking  symptom  connected  with  the  case 
was,  that  the  small  sufferer  gradually  shriv- 
eled and  faded  away,  as  it  were  by  the  breath 
of  some  fatal  blight ;  for  his  soft  skin  was  like 
parchment  yellowed  by  time,  his  features  be- 
came hollow  and  sunken,  and  his  throat  sallow 
and  wrinkled  as  that  of  a  decrepit  woman's. 
The  rosy,  dimpled  hands  grew  bony  and  claw- 
like,  the  fragile  arms  seamed  and  cadaverous, 
and  the  sweet  voice  subsided  to  a  mere  croak. 
Dissolution  appeared  actually  to  have  begun. 

During  all  those  watchful  nights  of  wretch- 
edness and  despair  in  which  the  child  lay  dying, 
Margaret  rarely  slept,  but  sat  mutely  by  the 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

little  one's  cradle,  filled  with  a  strange  conflict 
of  horror  and  disgust,  yet  through  it  all  dis- 
covering the  agony  and  solicitude  of  a  mother's 
love.  Betimes  she  would  take  the  child's  skele- 
ton hand  in  her  own,  with  all  the  hunger  of  her 
heart  shining  through  her  eyes ;  then  shivering 
at  its  unaccustomed  touch,  she  would  drop  it 
again  and  moan  in  the  impotence  of  her  woe. 

It  is  always  a  mournful  thing  when  an  in- 
fant dies,  when  a  sweet  bud  that  has  no  part  in 
life  but  a  frail  promise,  is  suddenly  blasted 
forever.  But  the  passing  of  Margaret's  child 
was  not  mitigated  by  those  tender  circum- 
stances commonly  attendant  upon  an  infant's 
death.  Its  little  body  was  dreadful  to  look 
upon.  This  was  the  sharpest  pang  of  the  poor 
mother's  heart,  that  her  baby  had  become  re- 
pulsive in  death. 

Throughout  that  dark  hour,  and  through 
the  ordeal  of  the  funeral,  Margaret  made  no 
sound  of  weeping.  Dumbly  she  sat  and  saw 
the  little  form  which  she  had  nourished  at 
her  bosom  placed  in  its  small  casket,  heard 
146 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

without  comfort  the  solemn  words  of  the  serv- 
ice for  the  dead,  and  moved  with  the  mourners 
to  the  grave. 

As  Margaret  walked  through  the  grass- 
grown  church-yard,  she  regarded  not  the  gath- 
ering of  her  friends;  she  did  not  see  the  kind 
faces  and  tear-filled  eyes  of  the  Rachels  who 
sympathized  with  her,  nor  the  hard,  unfeeling 
glances  of  idle  curiosity.  She  was  truly  alone 
with  her  grief  and  her  dead.  The  fair  fields 
lay  smiling  on  either  hand,  but  they  were  noth- 
ing to  her.  The  sky  had  a  remote  appearance, 
as  though  it  were  a  sky  seen  in  a  dream. 

In  the  azure  distance  fir-crowned  heights 
melted  into  the  blue  of  heaven.  The  river  slept 
in  the  dreamy  splendor  of  the  day.  Countless 
little  lives  chirked  and  chattered  and  purred 
on  tilted  grass  blades  and  beneath  screening 
leaves.  Somewhere  far  off  rose  the  mellow 
lowing  of  cattle,  and  scarce  heard,  even  by  the 
attentive  ear,  fragments  of  a  boatman's  chant 
were  borne  along  upon  a  breath  of  air  too  faint 
to  lift  a  thistle's  down-fledged  seed. 
147 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

The  sunlight  mocked  her  as  it  fell,  but  the 
sorrowing  mother  heeded  not.  The  pungent 
mint  and  aromatic  herbs,  whispering  together 
in  the  dusk  of  their  own  green  world,  possessed 
no  healing  for  her.  She  was  nature's  child, 
but  nature  seemed  to  afford  her  no  ministry  of 
comfort  in  this  hour  of  her  supreme  need. 

"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life."  She 
heard  the  words,  but  stood  like  a  woman  of 
stone.  Those  who  watched  her  knew  that  her 
surging  woe  must  somehow  find  a  vent,  or  that 
death  or  madness  would  ensue. 

She  stood  leaning  upon  her  husband's  arm, 
and  beheld,  as  if  suddenly  waking  out  of  sleep, 
the  busy  undertaker  remove  the  coffin-lid,  and 
the  throng  of  inquisitive  spectators  draw  near. 
It  was  too  much.  Kneeling  with  her  arms  ex- 
tended over  the  little  body,  she  bowed  her  head 
upon  her  dead  child's  breast. 

"O  my  baby,  my  darling,"  she  wailed ; 
"come  back  to  me,  my  wee,  helpless  lamb! 
How  can  I  live  without  my  little  boy?" 

That  was  all;  she  shed  no  tear;  but  when 
148 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

she  rose  to  her  feet  her  face  was  white  as 
marble,  and  she  leaned  more  heavily  upon  her 
husband's  arm. 

They  buried  her  darling  out  of  sight,  her 
own  baby,  her  one  sweet  child;  for  her  mem- 
ory, sharpened  by  her  suffering,  brought  back 
the  image  of  her  babe  and  dwelt  upon  it  as  it 
was  before  illness  had  robbed  it  of  beauty.  But 
now  she  was  childless — childless  in  heart  and 
in  hope.  It  was  enough ;  life  was  a  void ;  she 
was  ready  to  die.  Margaret  moved  away  from 
the  new-made  mound,  with  a  dazed  and 
stricken  mien,  as  though  her  conscious  life  had 
been  closed  with  her  child  in  the  grave.  She 
returned  to  her  cheerless  home  repeating  to 
herself : 

"Dead — buried — dead — buried,*"  as  though 
they  were  words  too  hard  to  understand. 

Yes,  her  baby  had  been  buried  where  earthly 
love  could  never  reach  it  more,  and  with  it  was 
buried  all  the  hope  of  Margaret  Fordham's 
life.  Thereafter  she  dwelt  in  the  past.  Neither 
the  present  nor  the  future  contained  a  single 
149 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

object  to  awaken  interest  in  her  desolate 
soul. 

There  was  another  funeral  in  the  island 
not  long  after  Margaret's  baby  died.  Few 
were  the  mourners  at  this  burial.  No  one 
knew  whither  Jasper's  errant  footsteps  had 
strayed;  for  that  he  was  still  alive  was  now 
generally  believed.  Though  it  was  declared 
that  he  had  recently  visited  the  island,  it  was 
also  said  that  he  had  departed  as  suddenly 
as  he  had  come.  So  gentle  Mrs.  Forsyth  was 
borne  to  the  tomb  without  any  of  those  real 
manifestations  of  sorrow  which  spring  from 
kinship. 

But  there  was  a  heart-broken  wanderer  in 
a  foreign  land  who  would  feel  that  the  last 
possible  drop  had  been  added  to  his  bitter  cup, 
when  he  should  learn  that  the  only  being  upon 
earth  of  whose  love  he  was  certain  had  been 
borne  by  unloving  hands  to  her  final  resting- 
place. 

Upon  so  delicate  and  sensitive  an  organ- 
ism as  Margaret's,  the  stress  of  her  loss,  with 
15° 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

its  attendant  aggravating  circumstances,  was 
too  poignant.  Intense  in  her  nature,  prone  to 
experience  pain  or  pleasure  to  the  uttermost, 
and  with  the  taint  of  hypochondria  in  her  blood, 
it  can  not  be  regarded  as  surprising  that  her 
mental  faculties  began  to  yield  under  the  vio- 
lent strain. 

This  was  first  apparent  in  a  singular  hal- 
lucination under  which  she  labored;  she  per- 
sistently believed  her  child  to  be  alive,  in  an 
invisible  though  not  intangible  form,  and  she 
would  sit  for  hours  with  her  arms  curved  to 
her  bosom  as  if  still  holding  her  babe,  while 
she  crooned  a  lullaby,  and  her  eyes  were 
brimmed  with  maternal  love.  At  other  times 
she  would  sit  in  grieving  silence,  her  trans- 
parent hands  folded  in  her  lap,  and  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  floor  with  a  far-away  expres- 
sion, as  if  gazing  into  another  world.  Such 
moments  always  terminated,  either  by  her 
breaking  forth  into  a  song  almost  wild  in  its 
gayety,  or  by  indulging  in  a  fit  of  the  most  pas- 
sionate weeping. 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

Her  aberration  of  mind  continued  to  de- 
velop as  the  days  wore  on.  She  obtained  most 
comfort  from  looking  upon  the  portrait  of  her 
dead  child,  painted  when  the  boy  was  in  health. 
Nothing  soothed  her  so  much  as  this. 

Ah,  the  pity  of  it,  that  the  glorious  human 
intellect  should  be  so  easily  eclipsed!  That 
life  through  a  shadowy  vista  should  walk  with 
specters  perpetually!  That  the  real  and  the 
unreal  should  be  hopelessly  confused,  and  mock 
each  other  in  the  darkness  and  terror !  It  is  in 
this  dim  region,  this  twilight  of  our  being,  that 
the  unseen  touches  the  seen  and  the  finite  melts 
into  the  infinite.  Dreams  and  madness  are  near 
akin. 

What  wonder,  then,  if  Margaret  called 
upon  the  name  of  her  child,  and  held  loving 
communion  with  a  spirit  of  the  air?  Never  a 
day  passed  that  she  did  not  have  her  babe, 
fondle  it  with  the  sweet  arts  of  maternity,  press 
it  to  her  yearning  bosom,  or  hush  it  into  a 
dewy  sleep. 

Yet  the  world  called  her  mad.  But  who 
152 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

shall  say  that  she  was  not  wise  beyond  the 
wisdom  of  this  world  as,  still  cherishing  the 
holy  mother-care  God  had  given  her,  she  fol- 
lowed the  normal  leadings  of  her  woman's 
heart  ? 

Oftentimes  misfortune  opens  in  human  na- 
ture fountains  of  pity  that  have  long  been 
sealed,  and  the  sweet  waters  gush  forth  anew, 
making  the  wilderness  of  this  world  and  the 
wasteplaces  of  life  blossom  fresh  and  beau- 
tiful as  the  rose.  Tears  many  times  wash  away 
otherwise  impregnable  barriers. 

Henry  Lesage  began  to  experience  remorse 
for  the  misery  he  had  brought  upon  his  child. 
The  indomitable  Achilles  was  vulnerable  in  his 
heel.  There  is  in  the  heart  of  every  man  some 
quick  spot  where  he  may  be  touched  and  made 
to  respond.  Already  the  doubt  began  to  assail 
Lesage,  whether  he  had  not  cursed  his  daugh- 
ter's life.  Perhaps  he  recalled  a  lovely  blue- 
eyed  woman  who  had  been  sleeping  for  years 
beneath  the  turf  in  the  little  churchyard  of  the 
island;  who  had  said  to  him  with  her  failing 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

breath,  while  the  light  of  love  was  growing 
dim  in  her  dovelike  eyes : 

"Henry,  always  be  good  to  our  little  girl." 

"Had  he  been  good  to  his  child  ?"  He  put 
the  unwonted  question  to  his  own  soul.  "Had 
he  not  selfishly  imposed  upon  her  his  own  stern 
will,  till  he  had  crushed  hers  into  shrinking 
submission?  Had  he  studied  the  highest  inter- 
est of  his  only  daughter  in  dragooning  her  on 
to  her  unfortunate  marriage?  Had  he  not 
rather  overshadowed  her  whole  life  with  an  un- 
lifting  darkness?" 

These  self  accusations  now  beat  in  upon 
his  mind,  like  healthful  sunlight  streaming 
through  the  noisome  twilight  of  a  sick-cham- 
ber. Bless  God !  there  are  springs  of  redemp- 
tion in  every  soul;  they  may  be  overlaid  and 
choked  by  long  years  of  neglect  and  misdoing; 
but  sometimes  a  sudden  sorrow,  a  stroke  of 
pain,  a  word  of  truth,  will  reveal  them  clear  and 
unpolluted  as  Siloam's  rill. 

Margaret's  mental  alienation  became  grad- 
ually more  pronounced.  Her  life  had  become 
154 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

a  tragic  and  piteous  thing.  There  was  a  lesion 
in  her  heart  that  was  always  bleeding.  A  va- 
cancy of  the  eye,  a  purposelessness  of  move- 
ment, indicated  more  plainly  than  words,  that 
some  vital  cord  had  snapt  in  her  being.  Phy- 
sicians advised  an  immediate  change  of  climate 
and  surroundings. 

Philip  Fordham  had  in  a  degree  given  over 
his  habits  of  dissipation.  Moved  by  his  wife's 
sad  condition,  and  influenced  more  strongly 
still  by  certain  significant  changes  in  the  con- 
duct of  his  father-in-law,  he  now  partly  re- 
formed. 

However,  it  was  an  impossible  achievement 
that  he  should  become  all  at  once  morally  cor- 
rect. He  must  needs  indulge  in  some  few 
freaks  of  knavishness,  if  it  were  for  no  other 
purpose  than  to  retain  the  high  opinion  of  cer- 
tain interesting  characters  of  the  island.  Still, 
his  present  deportment  was  a  marked  improve- 
ment upon  his  previous  behavior. 

It  was  now  determined  to  secure,  if  pos- 
sible, Margaret's  restoration  to  mental  health 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

by  a  trip  abroad.  A  new  era  dawned  for  her 
the  day  she  first  caught  sight  of  the  ocean. 
But  when  the  long  blue  line  of  the  continent 
and  the  last  dim  speck  of  an  isle  had  disap- 
peared from  view,  her  gratification  was  com- 
plete. 

She  was  almost  childish  in  her  gladness, 
and  would  clap  her  hands  in  delight  as  the 
smooth,  swelling  billows  came  rolling  toward 
the  vessel,  seeming  to  melt  away  as  if  by  magic 
when  they  touched  the  keen  dividing  prow. 
As  the  voyage  lengthened,  and  she  drew  nearer 
"that  old  world  which  is  the  new,"  the  majesty 
and  wonder  of  the  great  deep  wrought  a  spell 
upon  her  spirit,  and  she  sank  into  quiet. 

It  was  a  prosperous  voyage ;  day  after  day, 
the  wide  calm  sea,  terrible  with  latent  power 
even  in  its  calmness,  seemed  to  absorb  her 
more  and  more  until,  at  last,  like  a  butterfly 
from  its  prisoning  chrysalis,  she  broke  away 
from  the  old  life,  away  from  the  tormenting 
remembrance  of  her  sorrow,  away  from  all  that 
bound  her  to  the  troubled  and  dreary  past,  and 
156 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

began  to  experience  a  sense  of  renewal  and 
good  cheer. 

She  loved  to  stand  at  night  and  see  the  stars 
in  the  dark  deep  above  reflected  in  the  darker 
deep  below,  to  feel  the  fresh  salt  wind  against 
her  cheek,  and  the  free,  buoyant  motion  of  the 
waves  beneath  her  feet.  A  soothing  came  upon 
her  and  the  breath  of  peace. 

Morning  by  morning  she  wakened  before 
the  sunrise.  When  the  glory  gathered  under 
the  edges  of  the  half-blind  world,  she  hastened 
from  her  berth  to  thrill  with  the  harmonic 
splendors  spreading  over  water  and  sky. 

She  saw  the  first  faint  amber  glow  in  the 
purple  east;  she  watched  the  sapphire  rays 
slowly  open  upward  and  outward  like  a  gigantic 
fan ;  the  stars  paled  and  died  in  the  zenith,  and 
in  the  west  one  by  one  they  slipped  behind  the 
curtain  of  the  growing  light.  Crimson  and 
ocher  flames  began  to  burn  upon  the  crests  of 
every  ripple,  while  in  the  little  hollows  of  the 
waves  green  and  yellow  shadows  flickered  and 
danced.  Suddenly  the  huge  disk  of  the  sun 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

pushed  itself  up  above  the  ocean's  weltering 
verge,  and  the  vessel  bore  sheer  onward  along 
a  path  of  molten  gold. 

Both  her  father  and  Philip  were  with  her; 
both  were  very  gentle  toward  her.  Philip 
seemed  to  love  her  as  in  days  gone  by,  for  he 
was  no  longer  indifferent  to  her  happiness  or 
grief.  Well  did  Borne  declare:  "Es  ist  leicht 
den  Hass,  schwer  die  Liebe,  am  schwersten 
die  Gleichgiiltigkeit  zu  verbergen."  She  could 
not  remember  distinctly  what  had  happened  of 
late ;  she  did  not  wish  to  do  so ;  she  was  satis- 
fied to  enjoy  the  passing  hour.  She  knew  that 
a  change  had  occurred.  It  was  a  bright  world 
after  all. 

One  thing  dimly  troubled  her,  however; 
she  felt  that  in  having  wedded  Philip  she  had 
done  another  human  soul  a  wrong  which  she 
could  never  hope  to  rectify.  But  that  too  was 
past;  she  would  be  true  to  Philip  even  in 
thought ;  though  if  Jasper  were  not  dead,  how 
earnestly  would  she  ask  forgiveness  at  his 
hands! — forgiveness  of  her  shallow  faith,  her 
158 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

false  pride  that  had  deterred  her  from  trying 
to  reach  him  with  assurance  of  her  devotion; 
forgiveness  of  all  the  pain  which  she  might  have 
caused  his  loving  heart. 

They  had  told  her  that  somewhere,  too,  be- 
neath these  dark  waters  Jasper  was  asleep.  "O 
sea,  what  treasures  hast  thou  in  thy  keeping!" 

But  why  meditate  upon  these  things  ?  Were 
they  not  all  a  "portion  and  parcel  of  the  dread- 
ful past?"  A  fair,  fresh  prospect  was  before 
her ;  she  did  not  care  to  die  until  she  had  com- 
passed its  alluring  promise. 


CHAPTER  X 

of  tlje 


But  hark!  what  shriek  of  death  comes  in  the  gale, 
And  in  the  distant  ray  what  glimmering  sail 
Bends  to  the  storm?— Now  sinks  the  note  of  fear! 
Ah!  wretched  mariners!  -  no  more  shall  day 
Unclose  his  cheering  eye  to  light  ye  on  your  way. 

— MRS.  RADCUFFE. 


ARGARET  was  recovering  the  equi- 
librium of  her  mind.  That  this  was 
so  became  more  apparent  as  the 
journey  extended.  Along  the  waters 
of  the  Rhine,  at  Lucerne,  at  Geneva, 
on  the  snow-capped  heights  of 
Mont  Blanc,  through  the  valley  of  Chamouni, 
in  the  spacious  halls  of  the  Alhambra,  as  Mar- 
garet wooed  back  the  sunshine  of  her  old  girl- 
life,  the  assurance  strengthened  daily  that  her 
mental  restoration  was  well-nigh  complete. 

It  is  to  be  remarked  that  Italy,  with  its 
numberless  and  time-hallowed  objects  of  beauty 
and  art,  was  left  out  of  the  itinerary.  From 
Seville  our  travelers  retraced  their  footsteps 
through  France  and  England,  turning  their 
faces  homeward  at  length,  nor  was  Italy  once 
mentioned. 

It  was  at  Liverpool,  after  Margaret  with 
her  husband  and  father  had  taken  passage  on 
163 


Retribution:  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

the  Phosphor, — Captain  Jenkyns, — that  a  sick 
man  was  brought  on  board  the  vessel.  Mar- 
garet stood  leaning  over  the  rail  as  he  was 
carried  into  the  ship  on  a  litter.  She  did  not 
discover  his  features,  but  gained  a  glimpse  of 
the  pallor  of  his  face  as  it  disappeared  below. 
It  was  not  an  unusual  circumstance  which  she 
had  just  witnessed;  yet  there  was  something 
in  the  attenuated  form  of  this  sick  man,  as  he 
lay  helpless  upon  the  litter,  that  wrought 
strangely  upon  her. 

By  what  mysterious  force  does  an  object 
unknown,  and,  it  may  be,  scarcely  seen,  set 
vibrating  a  chord  in  our  hearts,  causing  us 
to  feel  that  we  have  suddenly  come  upon  a 
new  factor,  or  an  old  one  disguised,  in  the 
problem  of  life?  Margaret  visibly  shuddered 
as  she  looked  upon  the  pale  blotch  of  that 
dimly-described  countenance,  and  an  unac- 
countable chill  crept  about  her  heart  as  from 
a  death  chamber. 

She  was  stirred  with  desire  to  see  this  man. 
Obeying  the  impulse  of  her  heart,  she  would 
164 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

have  hastened  nearer  to  look  upon  him,  but 
already  he  had  been  borne  out  of  her  sight. 
Thenceforward  she  was  rilled  with  a  forebod- 
ing restlessness,  an  indefinite  dread,  anxiously 
desirous  of  gazing  into  the  face  of  the  ill 
stranger,  yet  curiously  reluctant  to  do  so. 

One  morning,  having  been  several  days  at 
sea,  Margaret  was  strolling  about  the  deck, 
conscious  of  the  sweetness  of  the  morning  and 
the  bracing  ocean  breeze,  yet  with  her  mind 
bent  upon  that  deathlike  face  which  haunted 
her.  Suddenly,  in  the  shelter  of  heaped-up 
cordage  and  sails  she  came  upon  the  identical 
subject  of  her  thoughts.  Before  her  upon  his 
litter  lay  the  sick  man  who  had  been  brought 
on  board  the  vessel  at  Liverpool.  She  could 
not  yet  see  his  visage  distinctly.  By  some  oc- 
cult and  irresistible  law,  Margaret  was  drawn 
slowly  forward  until  she  leaned  over  the  pros- 
trate form  of  the  ailing  one. 

For  an  instant  her  eyes  were  fixed  and 
glassy,  her  countenance  was  suffused  with  crim- 
son, which  ebbed  into  a  deathly  grayness,  while 
165 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  heart  as  though 
it  had  been  struck  through  with  a  mortal  agony. 

That  face  into  which  she  gazed,  that  face 
so  wan,  so  sadly  altered,  that  forehead,  fur- 
rowed with  pain  and  marred  by  disease,  the 
thin  wind-lifted  hair — all  were  familiar,  de- 
spite their  pitiful  change;  for  behind  the  mask 
of  sickness,  back  of  the  lines  that  suffering 
had  traced  upon  his  countenance,  Margaret's 
startled  vision  beheld  the  features  of  Jasper 
Forsyth. 

"O  heart,"  she  silently  prayed,  "be  still! 
Break  not,  but  endure  a  little  longer!  Be  still, 
be  strong!" 

For  a  moment  she  was  unable  to  utter  a 
syllable  audibly,  almost  doubting  the  evidence 
of  her  own  eyes ;  then,  the  first  sharp  paroxysm 
past  of  pain  and  surprise,  she  bent  low  over  the 
recumbent  form  before  her,  and  half  in  anguish, 
whispered : 

"Jasper!  Jasper!  is  it  you?  is  it  you?  I 
thought  you  were  dead,  Jasper!" 

"Yes,  Margaret,"  he  replied  in  his  old  sweet 
1 66 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

voice,  though  it  shook  with  combined  weak- 
ness and  emotion,  "if  I  am  not  dreaming  one 
of  my  sad,  false  dreams  and  you  are  the  same 
Margaret  I  used  to  know,  it  is  I.  Dead! — 
Dead!  How  could  you?  .  .  .  Who  told 
you  I  was  dead?" 

"Do  not — I  beseech  you,  do  not  upbraid 
me,"  she  cried;  "I  can  not  bear  it  from  you. 
Indeed,  I  believed  you  were  dead,  Jasper ;  they 
told  me  so,  father  and  Philip  did — Philip,  my 
husband;  they  said  that  you  had  died  on  ship- 
board, and  that  your  body  had  been  buried  in 
the  sea." 

"Did  they  tell  you  that?" 

He  spoke  in  that  subdued  and  measured 
voice  which  marks  a  struggle  ended  and  resig- 
nation won. 

"I  know  why  it  was.  Your  father  never 
liked  me.  He  could  not  bear  to  think  that 
we  should  love  each  other.  So  he  told  you  I 
was  dead  to  destroy  any  hope  which  you  might 
cherish  of  my  return.  But  O,  my  Margaret, — 
my  Margaret  no  longer — do  you  remember  that 
167 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

far-off  night  when  you  promised  to  be  my  wife  ? 
In  the  presence  of  our  old  loved  river — which 
I  think  I  shall  not  see  again — you  vowed  that 
you  would  never  be  untrue  to  me." 

"Jasper!  Jasper!"  she  cried  with  anguish, 
"for  the  sake  of  our  past  do  not  condemn 
me;  do  not  quite  break  my  heart.  I  loved 
you — I  love  you  still;  but  when  weeks,  and 
months,  and  even  more  than  a  year  had  passed 
and  you  did  not  write  to  me,  I  thought  that 
you  had  forgotten  me.  I  would  have  written 
to  you,  but  father  watched  me  so  persistently 
that  I  could  not.  O,  Jasper,  my  only  love, 
we  have  been  cruelly  wronged!  I  have  not 
been  happy;"  here  her  voice  broke  into  a  sob; 
"say  that  you  forgive  my  want  of  trust  in 
you." 

To  and  fro  she  weaved  in  her  grief,  while 
down  Jasper's  wasted  cheeks  the  tears  were 
slipping  freely. 

"I  forgive  you,  Margaret,"  he  said,  "I,  too, 
doubted  you — not  altogether  unjustly.  But 
what  is  past  is  past.  I  came  home  once,  more 
168 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

4 

than  a  year  ago;  I  went  stealthily  to  your 
father's  house;  it  was  summer-time,  and 
through  the  open  window  I  saw  you  with  a 
little  child  in  your  arms — not  my  child,  but 
another's!  Then  I  thought  I  should  die.  I 
fled  from  the  island  and  from  the  country.  I 
hurried  back  to  Europe — anywhere,  anywhere 
away  from  my  sorrow.  But  now  the  end  is 
near.  I  shall  soon  forget  and  be  forgotten. 
The  thought  of  such  a  death  used  to  be  fright- 
ful to  me ;  but  now  I  look  upon  it  with  anxious 
desire.  My  morning  was  full  of  hope  and  love 
and  ambition;  but  these  have  passed  from  me 
forever.  It  is  well;  my  precious  mother  is  no 
more,  my  life  is  a  wreck;  I  have  nothing  to 
live  for." 

"And  I — I  have  been  the  cause,"  sobbed 
Margaret;  "but  Jasper,  dear  Jasper,  my  heart 
goes  with  you  into  the  hereafter." 

The  sluices  of  her  love  were  open  now,  and 

all   the  old  affection  rushed   forth   anew,   as 

waters  that  have  long  been  held  in  restraint 

burst  their  barriers  at  last,  sweeping  everything 

169 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

before  them.  Tears  bathed  her  cheeks.  The 
remembrance  of  her  dead  child,  too,  came  upon 
her,  aiding  in  the  strong  revulsion  of  her  feel- 
ings. 

"My  baby  is  dead,  Jasper,"  she  gasped, 
"my  baby  is  dead.  You  will  go  to  my  little 
one  in  heaven.  He  will  know  you  and  love 
you,  Jasper,  for  I  called  him  by  your  name. 
Dead  .  .  .  dead,"  she  wept,  rocking  in 
her  grief,  "all  things  die  that  I  love.  O  why 
can  I  not  die,  too  ?" 

Passengers  and  sailors  had  been  passing 
back  and  forth,  attracted  by  the  spectacle  of 
that  beautiful  woman  bending,  with  stream- 
ing eyes,  over  the  haggard  face  of  the  sick 
man.  But  with  true  delicacy  of  feeling  not 
one  paused  to  stare  at  the  strange  tableau, 
though  filled  with  wonder  at  what  it  could 
mean. 

"Margaret,"  said  Jasper,  "abide  God's  will. 
Our  days  are  swifter  than  a  weaver's  shuttle. 
What  we  have  missed  in  this  world  may  come 
to  us  in  eternity.     I  shall  meet  you  there." 
170 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

"Then  farewell,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden 
flush,  hastily  drying  her  tears  and  with  a  scared 
look  of  remembrance.  "Neither  Philip  nor 
father  must  find  me  here.  I  would  not  have 
them  know  that  I  had  seen  you,  Jasper.  I  must 
go.  Farewell !" 

How  often  finely-wrought  natures,  upon  the 
discovery  of  deception  in  another,  will  shrink 
from  revealing  a  knowledge  of  the  deceit !  The 
rather  they  make  haste  to  conceal  the  fact  that 
the  falsehood  has  been  detected.  Particularly 
is  this  so  if  the  untruth  is  discovered  in  one  who 
is  loved,  though  never  so  unworthy.  Thus  it 
was  with  Margaret.  She  felt  that  she  could  not 
permit  her  father  nor  her  husband  to  know  that 
she  was  at  last  acquainted  with  their  baseness. 
She  rose  swiftly  from  her  kneeling  posture,  and 
was  about  to  turn  away,  when  Jasper  spoke. 

"Wait,  Margaret,"  he  said,  "what  token  am 
I  to  have  that  yonder  I  shall  not  watch  for  you 
in  vain?" 

She  hesitated  for  an  instant,  and  then  bent 
low  and  pressed  her  lips  to  his  worn  forehead. 
171 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

"Farewell,  Jasper,"  she  whispered,  and  he  an- 
swering whispered,  "Farewell !" 

Only  once  more  in  this  world  did  she  see 
him — on  a  bleak  and  rock-bound  shore,  where 
he  lay  cold  and  rigid  with  staring  eyes,  and 
sand  and  seaweed  in  his  hair. 

Who  will  dare  carp  at  our  heroine's  thus 
taking  leave  of  the  lover  who  had  been  betrayed 
to  his  and  her  own  irremediable  loss?  Love — 
an  old  love  whose  craving  has  been  for  years 
unsatisfied  and  repressed — knows  no  conven- 
tions in  the  ultimate  hour  of  parting;  it  has 
a  high  and  just  code  of  its  own.  In  that  su- 
preme crisis,  when  two  passionate  and  fated 
hearts  separate  forever  upon  earth,  love  over- 
leaps all  artificial  restraints  as  easily  and  scorn- 
fully as  in  the  ancient  fable  Remus  overleaped 
his  brother's  wall. 

Margaret  need  not  have  abridged  this  last 
interview  with  Jasper  for  fear  of  either  her 
husband  or  her  father.  They  were  aware  that 
the  sick  man  on  board  the  vessel  was  none  other 
than  Jasper  Forsyth,  and  by  mutual  consent 
172 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

they  avoided  him  as  though  he  had  been  a 
leper. 

Jasper  was  seen  no  more  above  deck  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  voyage.  The  old 
monotony  of  the  ocean,  unchanged  since  the 
birth  of  time,  went  on.  The  bright  morning 
sprang  up  from  behind  the  waters  in  the  east, 
and  the  red  evening  sun  was  quenched  under 
the  waters  in  the  west.  A  solitary  gull,  a  dis- 
tant sail,  a  wing- weary  bird  wandering  be- 
wildered from  its  native  woodlands,  the  limit- 
less expanse  of  unresting  billows,  a  fragment 
of  a  wreck  bearing  into  silence  forever  its  un- 
written history  of  suffering  and  terror  and 
death — such  are  the  diurnal  scenes  of  those  who 
"go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships." 

The  vessel  was  now  hardly  four  days  from 
her  destination.  On  the  following  morning 
she  was  enveloped  by  a  dense  fog,  and  extreme 
caution  was  necessary  to  her  safety.  In  the 
early  afternoon  of  the  same  day  a  brisk  wind 
arose,  and  the  fog  was  dispelled.  Toward 
nightfall  Margaret,  who  was  restlessly  moving 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

about  the  deck,  observed  Captain  Jenkyns  to 
be  viewing  the  heavens  with  an  anxious  eye. 
The  sky  was  of  a  dull  leaden  color,  growing 
darker  near  the  horizon,  and  where  clouds  and 
water  seemed  to  meet  was  a  lurid  fringe  of 
light. 

Margaret  approached  the  captain  and  asked, 
"Are  there  indications  of  a  storm,  do  you 
think,  sir?" 

"There  is  nothing,  madam,  nothing  but  a 
capful  of  wind  yonder,"  answered  the  captain 
politely,  and  with  assumed  indifference;  but 
immediately  he  added,  "However,  madam,  I 
think  it  would  be  prudent  for  you  to  go  below 
at  present ;  we  may  have  something  of  a  breeze 
soon." 

!  Margaret  turned  away  and  went  below. 

.  The  wind  now  increased  to  a  gale,  and  the 
vessel  bowled  swiftly  along.  A  high  sea  was 
running,  and  the  waves  at  every  moment  gath- 
ered force  and  volume.  None  but  officers  and 
crew  could  be  seen  above  deck,  the  passengers 
remaining  below  by  order  of  the  captain.  Soon 
174 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

a  violent  storm  was  raging,  and  the  hoarse 
rumbling  of  thunder,  mixed  with  the  howling 
of  the  blast,  made  the  war  of  the  elements  terri- 
ble. Inky  darkness  covered  the  heavens. 
Every  instant  in  the  blinding  glare  of  the  light- 
ning huge  billows  were  seen  like  mountains 
toppling  down  and  threatening  to  overwhelm 
the  vessel  with  destruction. 

Wreckers  were  all  alert  on  such  a  night  as 
this,  eagerly  scanning  the  offing  for  the  flot- 
sam of  the  sea.  The  lighthouse-keepers,  too, 
along  the  grim  Atlantic  seaboard,  faithfully 
trimmed  their  lamps  in  the  lofty  towers,  and 
listened  with  anxious  hearts  to  catch  above  the 
uproar  of  the  tempest  the  signal  guns  of  ships 
in  distress. 

Suddenly  where  long  breakers  bared  their 
white  fangs,  and  the  desolate  coast  rose  up  in 
many  a  rocky  spur  and  crag,  a  band  of  wreck- 
ers caught  the  hollow  booming  which  they  un- 
derstood so  well.  Quickly  a  huge  fire  was 
kindled  above  the  spume-drenched  beach.  In 
the  red  light  of  the  leaping  flames  the  uncer- 
'75 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

tain  outlines  of  the  rapidly  moving  figures  sug- 
gested a  company  of  evil  spirits  in  a  dance  of 
death.  Hardly  had  the  reflection  of  the  fire 
beaten  back  the  darkness  upon  the  foaming 
waters,  before  the  wreckers  descried  the  mas- 
sive bulk  of  a  vessel  driving  helplessly  into  the 
midst  of  the  seething  breakers. 

In  the  fitful  gleams  of  the  fire,  and  the  in- 
cessant flashes  of  the  lightning,  women  could 
be  seen  upon  the  doomed  vessel,  some  clasp- 
ing babes  in  their  arms,  others  kneeling  with 
hands  outstretched  in  prayer.  To  the  rigging 
men  were  clinging,  their  faces  strained  toward 
the  friendly  beacon ;  others  were  rushing  about 
the  deck  in  a  frenzy  of  activity.  It  was  evident 
that,  too  late,  the  cargo  was  being  jettisoned. 

There  followed  a  dreadful  moment,  in  which 
the  ship  appeared  to  pause  and  tremble;  the 
signal  gun  again  flashed  through  the  murk, 
and  the  peal  was  faintly  heard  above  the  roar- 
ing tempest ;  the  vessel  was  seen  to  lift  and  leap 
forward,  when  instantly  she  stopped  and  stag- 
gered as  from  a  mortal  blow.  Like  a  living 
176 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

thing  she  seemed  to  feel  the  shock  through  all 
her  tortured  fabric,  and  recoiled  shivering  from 
bow-sprit  to  rudder.  Then,  with  a  crash  that 
was  audible  above  the  shrieking  of  the  wind 
and  the  pounding  of  the  sea,  she  parted  asunder 
and  disappeared  beneath  the  engulfing  waves. 
That  night,  amid  the  debris  of  the  wreck, 
a  woman,  with  a  life-buoy  attached  to  her  body, 
was  washed  ashore.  The  men  who  found  hor 
at  once  perceived  that  life  was  not  extinct,  and 
conveyed  her  gently  to  a  rude  cabin  near.  After 
unremitted  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  wreckers' 
wives,  the  woman  was  restored  to  conscious- 
ness. Far  better  would  it  have  been  had  she 
found  an  ocean  grave,  though  it  were  forever 

"  To  toss  with  tangles  and  with  shells." 

At  the  first  approach  of  morning,  Margaret 
Fordham,  deaf  to  all  appeals  to  remain  quietly 
upon  the  rough  pallet  where  she  had  been 
placed,  arose  and  began  to  move  about. 
Neither  commands  nor  entreaties  served  to  de- 
tain her.  She  went  down  from  the  little  cabin 
12  177 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

to  the  beach,  up  which  the  long  rollers  were 
sweeping  as  if  still  hungry  for  prey. 

From  Margaret's  mind  the  impressions  of 
the  past  night's  terrors  and  struggles  were 
nevermore  to  be  effaced.  Broken  in  body  and 
spirit,  she  reeled  as  she  walked.  Round  her  lay 
scattered  planks  and  casks  and  fragments  of 
rope,  but  there  was  no  interest  to  her  in  these. 

Suddenly,  in  a  narrow  bight  where  they  had 
been  tossed  by  the  waves,  Margaret  encountered 
the  bodies  of  two  men  lying  side  by  side.  With 
an  eager,  almost  fierce,  expression  in  her  eyes 
she  sprang  forward.  It  seemed  as  if  it  were 
in  mockery  that  the  spirit  of  the  tempest  had 
brought  these  dead  men  face  to  face.  Bending 
over  the  prostrate  form  nearest  her,  Margaret 
recognized  the  countenance  of  Jasper  Forsyth. 

Pale  and  emaciated  he  lay,  his  unsatisfied 
aspirations,  his  hopeless  affection,  his  heart- 
sickness  forever  past.  Poor  Jasper!  his  had 
been  a  sorrowful  life  in  this  world;  but  who 
can  doubt  that  there  is  reserved  a  recompense 
for  the  just? 

178 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

A  single  step  onward  lay  the  body  of  Henry 
Lesage,  and  on  the  features  of  the  hard  but 
not  wholly  unloving  man,  with  the  mysterious 
emphasis  of  death,  was  stamped  the  impress 
of  a  perverted  soul.  Unable  to  endure  a  scene 
which  so  taxed  her  exhausted  energies,  with  a 
quavering  cry  she  fell  swooning  on  the  strand ; 
and  when,  at  length,  the  wreckers  found  her 
there,  it  was  to  find  a  hopeless  and  gibbering 
maniac. 

Our  story  is  nearly  done.  The  body  of 
Philip  Fordham  was  never  recovered ;  and,  un- 
claimed by  friends,  with  little  ceremony  and 
much  dispatch  the  body  of  Jasper  Forsyth  and 
the  body  of  Henry  Lesage  were  buried  side  by 
side. 

It  is  a  dismal  spot  where  the  winds  are 
neyer  hushed  to  silence,  and  where  the  breakers 
make  their  undying  moan. 

And  what  of  Margaret  Fordham,  the  last 
of  her  race?  Alas!  it  is  related  that  she  ended 
her  unhappy  days  in  a  mad-house. 

It  was  upon  the  selfsame  night  of  the  wreck 
179 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

of  the  Phosphor  that  the  Lesage  mansion  on  the 
island  of  St.  Eustace  was  burned  to  the  ground. 
The  origin  of  the  fire  is  involved  in  obscurity. 
By  some  it  was  declared  to  have  been  due  to  the 
carelessness  of  a  drunken  care-taker.  By  others 
— the  superstitious — a  supernatural  agency  was 
intimated ;  for  it  was  alleged  that,  as  the  man- 
sion burst  into  flames,  an  old  and  withered 
man,  attired  in  antique  regimentals  and  with  a 
bloody  wound  in  his  breast,  was  seen  to  pass 
upward  with  the  smoke  and  sparks  and  fade 
away  amid  the  shadows  of  the  night.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  the  fact  remains  that  the  Lesage  man- 
sion was  totally  consumed;  and  of  it  nothing 
now  remains,  save  a  few  charred  timbers  and 
the  nearly  obliterated  foundation,  to  indicate 
where  it  had  once  been  reared. 

Yesterday,  standing  by  the  grass-grown 
ruins,  the  writer's  heart  was  oppressed  with 
the  desolation  of  the  scene.  Not  a  living  thing 
was  visible  save  a  spotted  lizard  which  lay  sun- 
ning itself  on  a  moss-covered  stone  that  had 
once  formed  the  lintel  of  a  door.  At  the  ap- 
180 


Retribution :  A  Tale  of  the  Canadian  Border 

proach  of  footsteps  the  reptile  slid  away  into 
the  dank  weeds  like  the  symbol  of  an  unhal- 
lowed memory. 

And  there,  on  a  wild  and  storm-swept 
coast,  the  wronged  lover  and  the  mistaken 
father  lie  together  in  death. 

By  wreckers  and  fisher-folk  it  is  said  that 
when  a  tempest  shakes  the  shores  and  the  rag- 
ing ocean  bellows  in  its  wrath,  the  figure  of  a 
distraught  woman,  with  disheveled  hair  and 
piteous  face,  may  be  seen  kneeling  by  those  two 
neglected  graves. 

They  also  say  that  sometimes  in  lulls  of  the 
storm,  when  the  winds  whine  and  the  breakers 
sob,  the  listener  may  hear,  audible  through  the 
confusion  of  the  sinking  tumult,  the  muttered 
words  of  an  ancient  malediction,  God  will  yet 
visit  retribution  on  you  and  yours. 


181 


000  03772? 


